Old Friend
by Prosperosdaughter
Summary: Alphard Black is a scion of the Noble & Most Ancient House of Black. Idris Lydiard is the Alpha werewolf of a mountain pack. But before he was Turned, he and Alphard were at Hogwarts together and they gave each other a pledge. Slash M/M
1. Rendezvous and Reminiscence

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
****Wandsong and Idris Lydiard are all mine.**

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Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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**Summary:** Alphard Black is a scion of the Ancient & Most Noble House of Black. _Toujours Pur. _Idris Lydiard is the Alpha werewolf of a mountain pack. But before he was Turned, he and Alphard were at Hogwarts together and they gave each other a pledge. SLASH. Explicit M/M.

_This is part of a back story to my own character, Idris Lydiard, in my main story, "You Will Not Kiss Me" (an Alpha!Remus Snupin). You don't have to read that, but it does have more of Idris's story._

_Dedicated to reviewers who wanted to know more._

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**Chapter 1: Rendezvous and Reminiscence**

Idris stood outside "The Boar's Head", the first inn at the foot of the mountains. He'd received a message to meet Alphard here. He'd thought long and hard about whether to come here, after all these years. They each knew that the other was alive in the world. Indeed, Idris knew that Alphard had searched for him for years after he'd been Turned. _Dearest Alf._ He hadn't let Alphard find him. He could not bear the handsome, patrician Alphard to see the half-breed beast he had become.

Now here he was, decades later on a literal and metaphorical threshold. The anonymous writer of the parchment said to be here this night or the writer would tell Alphard where the pack could be found. He couldn't have Alphard walk into danger, even if it was his own pack. He had thought perhaps Remus Lupin or his human mate had written the parchment, but neither's scent was upon it and was it something he thought either capable of: they were not so devious, he thought, although he knew Remus Lupin was a spy and there was more to his mate than met the eye. He knew the writer was old, older than he. He folded it and put it in his pocket, inhaled deeply to settle his nerves and entered.

He didn't have to look around, or acknowledge the regulars who stopped talking as they took in the sight of the large man with bright, dark eyes, shaggy hair as white as snow, and sideburns, and large, cursed scars raking across his weathered face. He caught Alphard's scent immediately. It shocked him that he could recall it so well after all these years. He looked straight to the private alcove, curtained off from the rest of the inn and entered it.

"Old friend," Alphard said, his mellifluous voice, deeper with age as he stood to greet Idris, his grey eyes bright with trepidation.

"Alf, my dear friend," Idris said gruffly, his throat rough with emotion.

Both men stood and almost moved to one another, but then moved back to sit down instead, hesitant and awkward after so many years.

The werewolf sat down slowly opposite Alphard Black, still handsome, distinguished with white wings in his black and steel hair, still long, but tied back, befitting a man of his age and status, his clothing still finer than Idris had ever worn even before his Turning. Idris's dark eyes were bright with tears of recognition, as unidentified emotions swamped him unbidden. He had thought he was ready; he had thought he was strong enough to see Alphard after all these years. He was wrong.

They regarded each other for a long period, each with their own hands clasped on the table before them, so near to the other, but not touching. Alphard poured Idris a tankard of ale from the clay pitcher on the table, his hands tremulous. Then Idris spoke again.

"How did you find me, Alf? After all this time?"

Alphard reached into his heavy brocade trimmed robe and brought out a parchment and smoothed it out on the table before him, identical parchment to that received by Idris.

"I don't know who sent it." Alphard looked hopefully up at Idris, who picked up the parchment, and saw that it was addressed to Alphard in Spain, but he didn't read the contents. As if worried that Idris might think he had gone to Spain without a thought for him, he rushed to say, "I looked for you. Everywhere I went, every country, I looked for you. For years, I searched." His voice cracked, and he looked back down at the parchment.

"I know," Idris said simply. "At the time I knew."

"Then why didn't you let me find you?" Alphard asked, his voice plaintive.

"Look at me. Look at what I became."

"But I loved you. I missed you. I wouldn't have cared," Alphard said tentatively, his heart full. whether with joy or sadness, he did not know. His Idris was here with him after all these years; but would he leave without him this night?

"No," Idris said firmly. "You wouldn't have loved me for long once you found me. The pack found me - it was my new life. It was the only life I could ever have."

"No," Alphard whispered. "I loved you so, I love you still." Alphard slowly reached out his hand and tenderly traced the raked scars across Idris's face. "Do they hurt?" Alphard's cultured voice sang, his voice touching Idris's heart the way his fingers touched his skin.

"No, not any more," Idris answered softly, his eyes closed at Alphard's touch. The touch of Alphard's hand was like fire across his skin. It always had been, from their very first touch, from their very first kiss. He closed his eyes sharply as remembrance pierced him. Alphard remembered too.

_That kiss he felt for the first time in the Dark Forest when they were fifteen, on a saucy dare from each other, although they both knew it was a ruse for what they really wanted but how they made light of it as they ventured into the centre of the forest._

"_Doesn't every one do this in your dorm? They're like bloody rabbits in mine," Alf quipped, sitting cross legged in front of his most special friend: the friend whose eyes he sought out in the Great Hall at every meal; who he made a point of sitting with in History of Magic and Astrology, the only classes they shared; whose company he sought whenever he could and had done since the day they first met on the Hogwarts Express when they were eleven. The quiet, burly boy with the merry eyes and the wonderful black shaggy hair and the huge smile made him happy and made his insides squirm in a way he didn't fully understand, but was coming to._

"_Some do," Idris replied. "Say it gives a better feeling than their own hand, but I don't want them touching me. It's private, that is."_

_Alf laughed. That was practically a monologue for his friend and he laughed. His throat was dry. He wanted to touch Idris. He was sure, so sure, Idris wanted to touch him: his eyes smouldered at him. He was certain, and he always knew when Idris was near: he could just detect his smell and it always made his insides squirm deliciously._

"_I'd like you to touch me," Alphard said, staring at his friend, terribly aware of his painful erection under his robe. "I think it would be ... nice."_

_Idris smiled. "I've never done that to anyone else." He blushed, furiously, as if he was in some error. "But, I think I'd like you to touch me too." He could not admit to his dear friend that it was always Alf he thought of when he touched himself at night with the curtains closed around himself and placed a strong silencing charm so he could say Alf's name. He knew some of his dorm mates liked mutual masturbation, and thought no more of it than if they were playing Quidditch together, but Idris knew it meant much more than that – to him anyway._

_Of course, now it was agreed, neither boy had the courage to approach the other and grinned at each other stupidly with embarrassment. In the end, it was the quiet boy who made the move. Idris shuffled closer on his backside, and straightened his legs so they stretched out either side of Alphard's body and for the first time in his indulged and confident life, Alphard felt shy and overwhelmed by longing for his friend's touch. He stretched his own legs under Idris's._

_Idris laid his large but gentle hands on Alphard's thighs and said quietly, "The boys in the dorm, they sound quite rough when they do this to each other. I don't want to be rough, Alf."_

_Alphard gulped. He, unlike Idris, had joined in and knew it was often rough, he supposed reflexively so the boys were not considered to have a preference for other boys. He'd been like that himself. He'd always thought of Idris though, and wished it was his hand and not his dorm mate's. "Nor me," he whispered, now realising his light suggestion of a dare was meaning more and more to him as they delayed. This wouldn't just be tossing off with a dorm mate. This would have meaning. He suddenly wished they were somewhere warm and romantic. He wondered if Idris would think he was a fool if he knew. He hadn't even known he was capable of feeling this embarrassed._

_For all Alphard's embarrassment, Idris was feeling more and more confident. This is what he had fantasised about for so long now. He was more aroused than he had ever been and his heart was pumping violently. He desperately wanted to touch Alphard, but didn't want to rush him or scare him._

_Idris reached forward tentatively to Alphard's robe at his waist and spelled his belt away. He grinned foolishly at his friend because he had made the first move. He very much wanted Alphard to make a move – to confirm that he wanted to do this too. Alphard copied his move, his hands trembling. Idris caught his hands._

"_Are you sure you want to touch? We won't if you don't want to." Idris whispered. A small moan escaped from Alphard._

"_Very much," he gasped, worried now he was sounding too desperate and he would scare Idris away but he was being overwhelmed by this new, burning excitement._

_But no, Idris smiled broadly. "Good."_

_He pushed forward both hands and gently, and intently, began to unbutton Alphard's robe. Alphard closed his eyes against the feel of it: his young skin registering every single brush of Idris's fingers against his virgin skin as he worked. He had not expected it. He had thought they would just reach inside each other's robes but this – this was exquisite. He felt the whisper of air on his skin and knew that Idris had opened his robe. What would he think? And when had he, Alphard Black, ever cared what anyone thought of how he looked?_

_Idris managed to keep his own passion under control. He didn't really have any idea how to be romantic, although he knew he wanted to be. So he would be gentle. He was a broad and strong boy, sometimes unwittingly rougher than he intended. He would not be rough with Alphard and unbuttoned his clothes with as gentle a touch as he could muster. As he saw the perfect pale skin appear as the robes came undone, he yearned to place his lips on the skin but that couldn't possibly be welcome, could it? They were only doing what dorm mates did, weren't they? Weren't they? He was sure his dorm mates didn't do or feel this, but he couldn't help himself, he wanted to see all of his friend. His heart beat furiously as he caught his first sight of his friend's erection, against his stomach and he held open Alphard's robe to drink in his first sight of Alphard's beautiful body. Such ways he'd like to touch him. If only he could. If only Alphard would do the same to him._

_Alphard opened his eyes. Idris had a dreamy expression on his face as he held open Alphard's robe with his hands and he gave Alphard a small smile and dropped his hands and closed his eyes. Alphard reached forward with his passion-fuelled trembling hands and unbuttoned Idris's robe. It was much less ornate in its fastenings and came undone more easily than his own. He heard Idris's breath hitch as he glanced a finger across his skin on his chest. It must feel to Idris as it had felt to him. With this realisation, he could not stop himself brushing one finger from the hollow of Idris's neck down his breast bone lightly. A beautiful moan came from Idris's throat and Alphard felt his own desire thicken more. He must see his friend, then they could touch. He finished and opened Idris's robe as Idris had done to him._

_His friend's body was so different to his own. Broader, more muscular, hair starting on his chest, leading tantalisingly down to his own erection. Alphard swallowed hard. He realised how much he wanted to touch and taste the body before him, and he realised he didn't really know how men made love, but he wanted to, oh Merlin, he wanted to so much it was painful._

_Idris and Alphard stared at each other – faces and bodies. Again, it was Idris who made the first move. He shuffled closer to Alphard until they were no more than inches from each other. He lightly brushed one finger up the shaft of Alphard's erection and lightly grazed its tip. He breathed in sharply and did the same to Idris, whose breath hitched. How their dorm mates had been rough with each other, neither boy could fathom. Their own cocks felt raw, as if none had ever touched them before._

"_Alf," Idris said softly, and Alphard looked into Idris's deepest, darkest gaze and Idris took in the darkening slate of Alphard's beautiful eyes – the colour of a stormy sky, he thought, over the mountain where he was born. It took Idris's breath away. Idris wrapped his fingers around Alphard's cock gently and said his name again. It took Alphard's breath away. "Touch me, Alf."_

_As gently as Idris had taken him in hand, so Alphard wrapped his fingers around Idris and together on an unspoken cue they lightly stroked each other, savouring the feel of their own and the other's and the sound the other made. It was so blissfully new, so bright, so sharp. Part of them wanted to stroke hard and fast to bring each other to an orgasm they knew would be fierce. But the other part of them, the part that knew that this was special to them, that it had meaning for them, did not do so, but stroked each other more sensuously than they had ever touched themselves revelling in the exquisitely searing pleasure that shot through their bodies at each other's touch._

_And then, when Alphard was certain he could feel no more pleasure than he was feeling now, a searing thrill shot down to his groin, heightening his pleasure even more, where Idris had grazed Alphard's nipple with his thumbnail and he uttered a small cry and his eyes shot open. "Again," he murmured softly, and inhaled sharply when it was repeated, Idris himself hardening further seeing its effect on Alphard._

_Idris was excited almost beyond endurance by Alphard's grip on him and touching Alphard's skin innervated him even more. Hearing Alphard's cries and gasps was almost as thrilling as the hand rubbing his cock so deliciously. But, oh, what he wanted now – could he? Dare he? As he thought it, Alphard responded, his own free hand now rubbing under Idris's cock and massaging his balls. Idris's head fell back with a cry. It was all so intense. So much more than he had ever thought and he knew, even though they were both trying so hard to delay, neither could hold on much longer. He must dare – he must._

_His head rolled around and he leant forward so his damp forehead touched Alphard's. "Look at me, Alf. Please," he murmured. Alphard raised his face to Idris, who caught his lips, fervently hoping he would not be rejected, knowing dorm mates never, never did this, as his lips parted for the hoped-for response._

_Alphard's lips tingled wildly at the feel of Idris's catching them. He was so surprised, it almost jolted him from his near-ecstasy. It was perfect. Of course it was, and he parted his own lips to respond, his tongue finding that of Idris, as they gently wrapped around each other, then more passionately, the kiss sealing the mounting delirium as they kissed harder, their hands now pumping each other hard and fast until their own pace became erratic, their mouths open against each other as they struggled to breathe as their orgasms crested and broke over them, both crying hoarsely with abandon, fierce spurts covering their hands and stomachs that had become pressed together in the heat of climax, and then slowing gradually they re-commenced the kiss._

_Why had they never done this before? they both thought to themselves as they kissed as deeply as they could but their hands now still on each other's thighs._

_Idris thought there was no boy so marvellous as Alphard Black. Alphard Black thought there was no boy so fine as Idris Lydiard. Both boys were sure, as they kissed, there would be no kiss to equal this one for the rest of their days._

The boys only ever left each other's side for lessons, meals and sleep. They would contrive to spend the rest of their time together, clear to all the world how they felt about each other. There might have been caustic words in the Slytherin dorm had he not been a Black, one of the oldest and most prestigious of pureblood names of wizarding aristocracy. Of course, his amour was put down to aristocratic tendencies, sowing his wild oats with this rough boy before his adulthood – that must be the reason why this most eligible bachelor had taken up with a half-blood Hufflepuff who was already apprenticed in trade. It didn't matter to any Slytherin how unusual the half-blood's gift was and the way teachers fawned on him because of it. Indeed, many gossiped that he must have somehow stolen it from some impoverished pureblood wizard.

The budding romance scandalised the older Slytherins, especially Alphard's older sister, Walburga, and the Slytherin prefect, Tom Riddle, who so violently and vocally detested imperfections in wizarding blood, but would not be so foolish as to call a Black a disgrace to the name of wizard. But he had his own plans that would settle the Hufflepuff – that was for sure. He would gain from this plan personally, and the wizarding world would gain from the severance of such a morally imperfect pair.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Idris almost reeled from the strength of the memory, his knowledge of who Riddle had become only so recent, finding out from Remus Lupin and his mate when they had stayed with his pack. He opened his eyes and regarded his old friend, his lover of bygone years.

Alphard's hand dropped to Idris's hands he held in his lap and squeezed them.

"You remember," Alphard said. "I know you do. You were my first love. My most special love. I never forgot you. No-one came close to you."

"It was so long ago. Why would you want to see me now?"

"I've never stopped wanting to see you, to find you. To keep you by my side, as we intended."

"Why would you wish it now?" Large, calloused, scarred hands cupped the still oh so handsome face. "Don't you have another?" Idris wondered if he really wanted to know if his beautiful Alf lay with another man once the curse had torn Idris away.

"Another? Never like you. I've had lovers. I always hoped I would find someone. But it was always you." Alphard hung his head. "Then you have? You found another?"

"I have a wife. Family." Idris found he could no longer look at Alphard's eyes, they were so sad. "Pack," he finished softly.

"A wife?" Alphard looked shocked and pained. "You love her?"

"Of course. She is my mate."

"Your mate." Alphard nodded, knowing the import of it. "When I was looking for you, I read every book I could find about werewolves. I tried to learn all about it for when I found you."

"Why did you want to find me? How could you have helped me?"

Alphard's soft, aristocratic hands found Idris's gnarled ones again and squeezed them.

"Don't you understand how in love I was? I am still. I wanted to be with you, no matter what. I should have been your mate. It should have been me! If I had found you, I wanted it to be me. I would have gone anywhere with you, or we could have run away together ..."

"I'm nothing but a dirty werewolf," Idris growled.

"No!" Alphard said insistently. "We gave each other our Pledge. Against our magic, we would be together when we were of age. We _Pledged_ to each other, Idris," Alphard insisted softly. "I could never give you up."

That they had, in their usual refuge, the Dark Forest that seemed to hold no fear for the boy who could hear the song of the trees, especially those trees whose wood could be used for wands, for Idris Lydiard could hear Wandsong, one of the few wizards to possess such a gift. Alphard knew his Idris was unique: unique to him; unique to the wizarding world and they loved each other so.

Whenever they could steal away together they would lie with each other, partially undressed, never fully. They would touch each other, kiss each other, everything still so new that the merest gossamer touch would drive them wild. But they had not yet had sex. They read about it in books in the restricted section and knew how, but they were young, inexperienced and afraid so they Pledged to each other.

Both boys had politically powerful fathers, although at the opposite end of the political spectrum. They knew if they committed that final act of love, and either of their fathers found out, they would be forcibly separated and one or other would be sent abroad. Purebloods had ways of finding out and Pollux Black wouldn't think twice of subjecting his son to such a degrading test. As for Vereticus Lydiard: everyone knew he was a tartar who would make has son suffer if he associated in _any _way with the insufferable pureblood Blacks. But once Alphard and Idris were of age, their fathers could imprison them no longer. They would be free.

It was there in the Dark Forest that they gave each other their Pledge as wizards that only death would part them. When both were of age, they would consummate their Pledge, with or without their families' consent.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Idris's thoughts were jumbled in confusion, torn between his loyalty to his wife, the pack mother, and this beloved face from his long, long past: but he could not deny this feeling – this feeling he hadn't felt for decades – this deepest yearning as he looked into the slate grey eyes, now older than when he last searched them, but made young by hope.

"Did you know my name means 'solitary one'?" Alphard smiled sourly. "Perhaps, I am cursed to be alone after all."

"I don't want you to be alone," Idris murmured. Alphard leant in to kiss Idris, catching his lips as hesitantly as Idris had caught his that very first time.

Idris's breath caught in his throat. They had given each other their Pledge – his heart soared freely for the first time in years as he felt Alphard's lips touch his.

He tentatively returned the kiss.

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**What will Idris do after all this time?**

**For those reading "You Will Not Kiss Me"**_** – **_**the timeline for this story will be concurrent with that so, to prevent spoilers, posting will be a tad erratic. I hope you enjoy this story.**

**Please read and review.**


	2. Renunciation of a Name

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard are all mine.**

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Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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**Chapter 2: Renunciation of a Name**

The kiss was brief, even chaste. Just a taste of his beloved's lips, but no more. There was a small gulp. Idris opened his eyes to see Alphard's face, his eyes closed – so sad. He lifted his hand and stroked Alphard's cheek with his forefinger and found the trace of a tear. Alphard's eyes opened at the touch as he moved to sit back in his chair, his hand catching Idris's wrist. Idris wondered when was the last time he cried. His eyes were old eyes that had seen so much; old eyes that didn't shed tears any more. No leader had time for tears.

"Tell me why you are alone, Alf," Idris asked, never taking his eyes from his friend's. "Thought that sister of yours would have arranged a marriage for you." His tried to make his tone light.

"Walburga?" Alphard made a soft noise of amusement. "She tried. For years, she tried. 'Of course I know what you are Alphard!' she used to screech at me." Alphard impersonated a harsh, screeching, female voice. 'You are unnatural, an abomination, but you are a Black and you _will_ marry so that there are heirs.'" Alphard closed his eyes, with that same soft laugh. "Appalling witch." Alphard exhaled heavily and patted Idris's hand. "I didn't want to marry just to create heirs. I had a brother and sister. They were so keen on the name – I let them do it."

"And did they?" Idris asked, amused in spite of his sadness at the thought of his most special friend alone. Alphard railing against his family. It had ever been thus. They could have been fifteen again.

/

_Alphard broke the large twig in half and threw it viciously and then sat back down on the forest floor._

"_I'm so sorry. Walburga's determined to plan every moment of my time this Christmas holiday and she got Mother and Father to agree with her." He turned to look at Idris, a frank but sad expression in his young eyes. "I think she's realised that we ... well," he felt his face suffuse with blood, and grinned foolishly at his special friend, "we are closer than she wants." He nodded as if that described their situation very well and he scooped up Idris's hand and squeezed it._

"_I'll be working in Ollivander's workshop during the days anyway," Idris said lightly, as if it didn't matter that Walburga had determined to keep them apart over Christmas, although secretly he had been excited that they might see each other as he would only be back in Wales with his own father for Christmas Day and Boxing Day. He'd thought they might sneak about after workshop hours, explore Muggle London together maybe. Perhaps, he might even be allowed to bring Alf back to the boarding house his father had found for him and then ... and then ..._

_But that was the point, wasn't it, Idris thought with a heavy heart._

"_But I wanted to see you in the evenings," Alphard said. He realised it was almost a whine and bit his lip, embarrassed. He wanted to see Idris all the time. Although he didn't really understand the riot of emotions and deep physical yearnings he felt whenever he was with him, and even when he wasn't, he was content to call it love. It was only two years until they were of age after all. He caught his friend's lips in a playful kiss. Their playful kisses always deepened. Once they had kissed that first time, they both found they always wanted to kiss and sometimes they'd be brave enough to touch – not always, because sometimes they were frightened that they would go too far and then they would be separated. But they could always kiss and kiss for the longest time, unsure what to do with their hands, but instinctively their mouths, lips and tongues creating deep sensations that absorbed them completely._

_Today, however, they had been brave enough to touch just because their families sought to thwart them. Idris had learnt a warming charm and used it like a shield over them in the November air, here deep in the forest, secluded from other students. No-one came this deep into the forest, at least not since Rubeus had been expelled._

_Each had opened the other's robes and had kissed as they touched the other's skin, discovering such joy just in the other's skin. They found that they could make skin flame; that there was this place at the base of the neck – a hollow – that made them tremble; that a gentle press at the small of the other boy's spine would make him arch and moan; that a light touch to a nipple would make a breath catch in the other boy's throat; that a kiss or a light flick of the tongue to the ear lobe or behind would make the boy shiver; that kisses and licks to the throat seemed to shoot thrills directly into the other boy's groin. And knowing what it did to oneself, made one boy want to do it to the other as it increased his own desire too. They were discovering that the lightest of touch from lips or tongue or fingers would make them burn. The intensity of it scared them, but they longed for it._

_They were kissing so deeply and pleasing each other with their touches beneath these huge trees. It was then that Alphard had gently pressed Idris to the ground, and their naked chests pressed together for the first time. And there was friction, as Alphard's erection pressed against his friend's leg. It sent a shock through him even as he continued to kiss Idris, one hand cradling his head and the other inside his robe, stroking his side. He couldn't help himself, he had to move, just gently against his friend's leg and moaned into the kiss._

_All Idris knew was that his chest felt on fire with Alphard pressing against it and touching his side with his hand. He could feel Alphard moving against him, and it excited him even more. But he fumbled with his hands, not knowing what to do to increase these sensations. He wrapped one large arm around Alphard's shoulders to hold Alphard to him, to reassure him that his movement was welcome. But he wanted it for himself too. His slipped both hands under Alphard's robe and found his backside and stroked his hands over it, sighing into Alphard's kiss._

_Once again, he knew what he wanted to do, as his friend gently rocked against his thigh, his eyes heavy and glazed with want. Idris thought Alphard looked beautiful like that. Part of him didn't want to disturb his gentle movement that made Alphard's breath hitch, but he knew – he felt – he was sure – this would be better._

_He grasped Alphard's backside and shifted himself and Alphard so Alphard lay fully on top of him, and their erections lay together. Alphard's eyes sprang wide open as he gasped and Idris eyes dilated wide as his cock hardened painfully. Alphard placed his arms properly either side of Idris's body to hold his weight, although Idris probably thought he weighed nothing, and he moved his hips gently against Idris, and moaned at the feel of his hips moving, how his body seems to urge itself to move against the skin and muscle and bones underneath it. His senses were overwhelming him and his breathing became ragged. He stopped and looked at Idris, his face blushing furiously._

"_I'm sorry," he gasped. "It's so ... it's so ..."_

"_Move your hips, Alf," Idris said softly, transfixed by Alphard's dusky gaze, as aroused by Alphard's breathing as he was by his sinuous movements against his body. Alphard watched Idris's face as he moved his hips in the way his body told him to, thrusting against Idris's stomach and pelvis as Idris grasped Alphard's cock against his own._

_A small cry escaped Alphard's lips as he felt their cocks held together in Idris's large hand, already toughening from his work in the workshop. He thrust into that strong grasp, feeling his own body shiver. _

"_You own hand too, Alf. It'll be even better." Idris looked at Alphard as if he were a work of art, a thing of such rarity that to take his eyes from him would risk losing him forever. Idris let his body tell him what he wanted and this, he knew, would make this sharp and exquisite. Alphard stared at him, his mouth parted as his long black hair dropped forward. Idris stared at those parted lips and then his eyes drifted back to luxuriate in Alphard's hooded slate eyes._

_Alphard wrapped his hand around Idris's, although he could not match its span and Idris set the pace, gentle but firm as Alphard's face dropped to his and they tried to kiss, although within minutes, they could barely breathe as their young bodies, already burning, began blaze with their orgasms, that crested as their bodies shuddered and they both cried out against each other as their hands became erratic as they drained themselves against each other. _

_Alphard went to move off Idris's body, but Idris wrapped his arms around him, keeping him in place on top of him, although they were spent. As soon as they could breathe once again, they began to kiss once more. One day, not so long away, they would be free of interference and they would make love properly and fully. They both yearned for it. But until that time, they would learn to love each other in these ways, out of sight those who refused to understand._

/

"Cy had three daughters ..."

Idris guffawed. Little Cygnus, Alphard's young brother who Alphard always affectionately called, 'the little twerp'.

"The little twerp, married with children," Idris laughed at the thought, with no idea how Cy would look as a man – the last he saw of him, the boy could have been no more than twelve years-old. "Which pureblood princess got him then?"

"Druella Rosier," Alphard said, with disgust. Idris grimaced. Alphard nodded with a small smile. "And gave him three daughters!" Then Alphard's face fell. "He died five years ago." He laughed softly though. "Little twerp ... I forgot. He became 'pompous cretin'." Then he looked up, as if steeling himself. "They've been a mixed bag. Andromeda – my favourite, although of course an uncle doesn't have favourites..."

"Of course," Idris confirmed softly, noting that Alphard had let his hand fall gently on top of his.

"... Andy has the best taste in men, and clearly takes after her uncle." Idris looked confused. "She married a Hufflepuff!" Alphard announced proudly and Idris barked a laugh. "And a Muggle-born too!"

"What did your family do about _that_?" Idris laughed, relaxing a little more. It was good to talk about other things – not themselves and their stolen dream.

"Disowned her, disinherited her, blew her off the tapestry, all the usual draconian measures," Alphard said with a weary shrug. "So I gave her a dowry."

"Well done, Alf," Idris said, laughing softly. "Who knew the little twerp would raise rebels."

"Only the one," Alphard said, with a resigned air. "Narcissa, a sweet girl, despite her blood, married Ab Malfoy's prissy son."

Idris rolled his eyes. One of the few fights he'd had at school was with Abraxas Malfoy. He remembered now the not-so-small pride he had at blacking his eye. "And the last?"

"The eldest and the worst," Alphard said, a dark shadow crossing his features. "Bellatrix. Like my sister. Cruel, unstable. Married a Lestrange. In Azkaban now, where she should be," Alphard said with finality.

"Azkaban?" Idris's brow furrowed.

"A follower of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. A Death Eater," he spat. "A killer and torturer. She's where she belongs." Alphard's stare never left the roughly carved table at which they sat. "And that's not the worst of it," Alphard said, his voice now becoming tight.

"No?" Idris said, closing his hand so it held Alphard's in his distress, wondering just how thoroughly the Blacks had been embroiled with Riddle.

"Walburga married Orion."

"But he's your cousin!" Idris said, scandalised.

"It probably explains a great deal," Alphard said darkly. "They had two sons – an heir and a spare!" Idris heard bitterness in the statement and Alphard looked up at him, a film of tears glossed his grey eyes. "Sirius and Regulus. I loved those boys, Idris, like they were my own. Lively, intelligent – both of them. And Sirius! My little Dogstar! Completely irrespressible! Determined not to be held to his blood purity heritage." Alphard laughed. "You'll not believe this, Idris, and I think my seditious mutterings against his mother may have contributed to this, but don't hold me to it," Alphard was smiling now, and Idris couldn't but smile back at that still wonderful smile.

"Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor!" Alphard announced, sitting back and watching with satisfaction as Idris's eyes widened comically and his own smile widened and then slowly dropped.

"A Black in Gryffindor! Your sister - ?"

"Beyond furious. I feared for the boy's safety at times. I even wrote to the Hogwarts headmaster to keep an eye on him – just in case. I don't mind telling you – I was so proud," he said wistfully, "for a while, anyway." Alphard's voice dropped as he struggled with the memory. "He adored being in Gryffindor, had a group of special friends – one was a Potter – a _Potter_, mind you! How hilarious how that alone made Walburga shriek like a banshee!" Idris laughed at his friend's enthusiasm for the recollection. "And a little group of half-blood friends ..."

"And a werewolf," Idris softly interjected. Alphard stopped mid-sentence and stared at him. "A werewolf called Remus Lupin," Idris added, nodding.

"Remus Lupin ..." Alphard searched his memory. Did he remember him? Why, yes he did. "I remember the boy. Only met him a couple of times. Thin, looked a little scared of his own shadow. I had no idea. He was a werewolf back then?" Idris nodded. "You've met him as an adult werewolf?"

"Yes," said Idris, "but it's another story. Tell me about Sirius." Idris could tell this was Alphard's heartache. He needed to know.

"Yes. So. Sirius," Alphard said, as if scared of the subject all of a sudden. "He ran away from home when he was 16, she was so abusive. I helped him with money. Got myself blown off the tapestry." Alphard's voice was becoming smaller now and another heavy sigh followed. "Sometimes, blood will out, Idris. Blood will out."

"What to do you mean?" Idris asked gently, noticing his friend's eyes become glassy again.

"In time, in spite of all his teenage rebellion, he became a Death Eater, and the little one, Regulus too. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named killed Regulus, or so I heard, for having second thoughts. Sirius – well, Sirius betrayed the secret of the Fidelius Charm of his own school friends to You-Know-Who, who murdered them. Then he went on the rampage and murdered a group of random Muggles. He was sent to Azkaban as well." Alphard's eyes were deep with heartbreak and old bewilderment.

"He broke out two years ago. Still on the run, as far as I know. Probably, trying to find He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Alphard sneered, an unpleasant look on his handsome face. "I've heard he's supposed to have returned. That's where Sirius must be. At his side." He sighed heavily once more and then focused once more on Idris.

"I used to travel in my search for you," Alphard said, a small affectionate smile, "but I always returned to see those boys. Regulus was lost in 1980, and Sirius in 1981. I left the country for good then. Arranged my affairs so the estate of Black could have no further claim on me. I renounced the House of Black by blood ritual. I am dead to it, as it is dead to me."

Idris squeezed Alphard's hand. To lose so much, and to lose it to evil, he understood the grief too well.

"You should name him," Idris growled. "The man that cost you everything."

Alphard stiffened. "I know his name, but I will not speak it."

"Don't give him any more power over us than he's had already. Speak it, Alf. It is Tom Riddle."

Alphard stared at Idris for a long time, his mouth open in shock. "But ... but ... we went to school with him. How would I not have known that Lord V..V .. Voldemort," he bit out the name, "was Tom Riddle?" His head swam at the rush of recollections, bits and pieces falling heavily into place.

/

_They were due to return to Hogwarts after the Christmas break. Idris was missing. Alphard had broken his father's curfew to go to Ollivander's. Mr Ollivander said Idris was gone. Just that: "gone." He would say no more and his son, Garrick Ollivander, had run away and wouldn't talk to him. Alphard had gone to Idris's lodgings in Fye Foot Lane. Madame Bowen said his father had paid off his rent and the boy would not be returning._

_But he wouldn't leave him! Alphard knew Idris wouldn't just leave him! Something had happened. He went home as quickly as he could. He was out of bounds, and if his father knew, Alphard wouldn't be able to search the next day. He had never known what fear was like before – how one could taste it. But he could taste it now. His Idris would never have just left him. Never._

_He couldn't eat dinner, and then went to his room. Perhaps his owl, Deacon, could find Idris. Owls were magical – they didn't needed addresses. He scratched out a letter to Idris, finding he hand shaking and unbidden tears springing to his eyes in his fear. He wiped them away crossly with the backs of his hands and sent Deacon on his way._

"_Please find my Idris, please, oh, please," he murmured softly as he watched the tawny owl take wing._

_Deacon returned the next day. He looked ruffled and nipped at Alphard angrily. Alphard soothed Deacon's ruffled feathers as he stared at the bird's leg in distress._

_The letter was gone from his leg, but there was no reply. _

_Alphard laid his head on his arms at the table in library, screwing his eyelids shut over sore, bloodshot eyes, trying to think coherently of his next step. He was only fifteen. Where would he go? Who would help him? How ..._

"_You don't have so much to say for yourself lately," Walburga hissed and pinched his arm. "Lost your nasty little half-breed playmate?" She smiled nastily._

"_Half- breed? Idris is no half-breed"! Alphard's head snapped up from its cradle of his hands. "Is this your nonsense that he can't be a wandmaker because he's a half blood? What do you know, Walburga? Do you know something?"_

"_Perhaps, you should find your invert's father and ask him how is son is. I wonder if he'll tell you. I wonder if he'll even admit he has a son anymore?" Walburga hissed, a sneer marring her finely carved features._

_Alphard felt fear freeze his insides. Why wouldn't Idris's father admit he had a son? Alphard knew he came from one of the Darkest families in Britain, but surely, his family hadn't cursed Idris. Had they? The fear he felt almost rooted him to the spot as he stared open-mouthed at his sister. She was a Dark witch, even at her age. She embraced their family's traditions whole-heartedly – if she had a heart at all! As she leered at him, hot anger grew inside him, melting the paralysis of fear._

"_Walburga! What have you done?" Alphard almost howled with fear and rage as he grabbed her shoulder savagely and raised his wand to her throat. Seemingly from nowhere, his father grabbed his arm viciously and swung him around and spat out his name._

"_Do not speak to your sister like that, Alphard. You are not a costermonger's son to shout and scream – and at a lady! This is what consorting with half-bloods does!"_

_Pollux Black, every bit as handsome as a Black ever was, but with not one feature that had ever gentled with kindness, swiped Alphard's wand, struck him across the face with a resounding crack, and, still gripping Alphard's upper arm, cast a charm to render him as light as a small child – and as defenceless - and dragged him up the four flights of stairs so Alphard's knees would graze and bruise as he cried and begged his father not to leave him in the attic room, not to hurt him, to tell please, just tell where Idris was, to tell him what had happened, that he was all right, please that he was safe, not the attic please!_

_Pollux Black was deaf to every plea. Every plea was an offence to him: weak and ... girlish. He sneered down his fine patrician nose at his son as he took his time to scale the stairs, his spine as unyielding as his temperament. He'd heard what his son was ... what that ... creature ... and his son were. It was a disgrace to the name of Black. His son disgusted him. But he was a Black. He would learn. Just as Pollux in his day had learnt. In that attic room – where the ghoul lived ..._

_/_

"_I don't know why you just can't be normal, Alphard Black. Why can't you be a proper man?" Walburga hissed. "I don't know why I have to take care of things to make you normal."_

_The last time Alphard had risen to the bait had seen him locked in the attic with the ghoul for three days. They had learnt that ghouls were harmless in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Those in the Black family knew differently. The ghoul in their attic room was murderous but under an enchantment never to actually kill or maim. But it could hurt you – yes, indeed – it could scratch and bite and pinch and slap. It was allowed to perpetrate all these small injuries, one on top of the other if it chose, which, after three days, amounted to quite a lot of Dittany and Bruise Balm._

_Alphard would not let Walburga taunt him into injury again. He stood, his spine as straight as his father's and regarded her coolly. He set his jaw, just as his father did, and drew himself to his full height. At fifteen, he was already half a foot taller than Walburga and growing taller all the time. He needed to remember that. He needed to use his growing stature to his advantage._

_Walburga shrank back, her face ugly with hatred once more._

"_You're an abomination. That's what Mother and Father say about you. An abomination and a slander on the good name of Black. Well, I sorted your nasty little half-blood invert. No more wand-making or whatever horrid little trade he was going to be in! There'll be no place for him in wizarding society now – not even in trade. I've settled him once and for all, brother. And I'll do it again, to any other abomination you commit!"_

_/_

_His letter to Vereticus Lydiard had not been answered. He had tried again and again but always he was ignored. It was Easter and there were no classes for two weeks. He left for Snowdonia on his broom. He decided that he had to take the risk. He would brave the attic room, or worse – his father's locked study – but he had to know. He'd had enough of listening to his sister's taunts but not knowing what had happened to his friend. It took him hours to get there._

_There in a field, a handsome stone farmhouse with many outbuildings. Alphard looked at the address that Idris had written down all that time ago for him to write to him during their school holidays: Plas du, Minfford, Snowdonia. He went to the door and rapped smartly. He knocked several times but no-one answered. He looked around the building, but found nothing. He went to check the outbuildings ..._

"_What are you doing here, Black?" a man's voice yelled at him. Alphard turned quickly to see Idris's father. Not as he remembered him, a hale and hearty man, well dressed without ostentation. This man was gaunt, his eyes hollow, his appearance unkempt. _

"_Sir ... sir ... I came to look for Idris, sir. Please, sir. Tell me where he is. Is he well?"_

_The man scrambled over to Alphard, who backed up in surprise and some fright at the maddened expression that covered the man's face as he grabbed Alphard by his robe, practically lifting him from the ground and pressed his face into Alphard's, so close Alphard was nearly overcome by the stink of stale sweat and alcohol._

"_Is he well, boy? Is he well? My son is dead. D'you hear? He's dead!" he roared into Alphard's face._

"_No s...sir," Alphard managed to gasp. "He's not dead, sir. Please, I beg you to tell me."_

_Lydiard's eyes went wide and he pulled his face away from the boy he held so roughly._

"_You'll wish he was, boy," he growled._

"_No, sir," Alphard said quietly, afraid to wake Lydiard's wrath once more. "Please tell me."_

"_Bitten by a werewolf, boy. He's dead to me. If you've got any sense, he'll be dead to you too." The wild face almost became gentle, but the pain in it stopped it. "He'll be off baying at the moon. Try to forget him. He's a wizard no more."_

_The man released his grip and pushed Alphard away roughly, and staggered into the house, slamming the door._

_How long Alphard stood there, he would never know. All he knew was he had become so cold inside. He shook all over trying to understand what he'd been told. Had his sister really done this terrible thing? Given up his Idris to a werewolf to become a Dark creature? He fell to his knees, his head in his hands and keened loudly. How could she do it? How could she have been so evil? And how could Lydiard think Alphard could ever forget Idris. His Idris, bitten, turned out. Alone._

_He didn't try to forget. Why would he? They had Pledged to each other. Somewhere in the world, Idris was. Abandoned. Frightened. Alphard had no business abandoning Idris, and he would not._

_/_

_His Grandfather Cygnus had left his vault to him as the first born male heir, without condition. He could run away and have plenty of money. But, his father could still find him and force him home. He hired search agents to scour the country for Idris – for any sign where could be. He'd find him somehow. He read every work he could find on werewolves and used his legacy to order more obscure works for himself, having them delivered to school._

_Every night, he tried to sleep. How could he? How could he possibly? His heart hurt. His whole body hurt, missing Idris. Every day seemed to take an eternity to pass, willing his life away until he reached his majority so he could take up the search himself and his family be damned._

_Professor Slughorn had tried to talk to him as Head of House as Alphard became more withdrawn, but Alphard always managed to avoid him. He'd do his best in classes but he stopped going to the Slug Club, spending his time in the library or, sometimes, as the weather got better, in the forest. But Professor Dumbledore tried to talk to him too. He liked Professor Dumbledore's classes. He was good at Transfiguration and had always sought the Professor's favour, although his family frowned on the Dumbledores because they were half-bloods. But the Professor was kind. He seemed to understand, without saying as much, why Alphard pined. Eventually, after weeks of gentle questioning about the whereabouts of Idris Lydiard, Alphard told the Professor what Vereticus Lydiard had told him. He couldn't bear to tell him of his own sister's complicity in it, but he knew the Professor searched too. He knew from the sad look in every lesson that the Professor too had failed to find him._

_/_

_Riddle. Riddle. Tom Riddle. Yes._

"_I say, Black. Pleased to see you in the common room more often. This is where you belong. I know your sister is pleased." Riddle stood over him as Alphard sat gazing mournfully into the common fire, still completely lost and alone._

_It didn't matter that his House-mates tried to talk to him, to get him involved in Slytherin more. He hated them all the more for thinking he could just forget Idris. He couldn't. He didn't want to. It hurt._

"_What do you know about anything, Riddle?" Black spat, shouldering the older boy out of the way as he went to leave the common room with as much dignity as he could as he felt tears start to prick uncomfortably at the back of his eyes. He missed Idris so badly. He hurt. His heart hurt. It was so swollen with pain, he thought it would burst. It wouldn't go away. And he could tell no-one. No-one at all. _

_He didn't see the lip curl into a knowing smile on the prefect's charmingly handsome face, but he heard it in his voice, the voice that sounded so reasonable but for that undercurrent – that undertone - of satisfaction._

"_You'll understand in time, Black. It's for the best. Look to your own kind."_

_/_

"I was told he disappeared for years and came back with that ridiculous name. I suppose if you had stayed true to your roots, you would have been in the inner circle. I'm so proud you weren't, Alf. So proud," Idris said.

"I can't believe they're one and the same." Alphard's face became pensive. "I suppose that once I left for the continent, I lost touch with pureblood circles."

"Why the continent, Alf?"

"I thought perhaps that was where you'd gone. Or been taken by your father, even though he told everyone you'd died. I looked for you in Britain and in Ireland. Nothing. I came to know there were sizeable werewolf colonies in Europe – I went there. Travelled all over Europe. Eventually, after so many years of travelling and searching, I stayed in the place I found most beautiful and restful – in the mountains in Spain occasionally returning to see my boys." He made a dismissive flick with his hand. "And since Sirius was lost to ... Riddle, I haven't been back. This is the first time. The first time back on these shores for fifteen years. And I can't think of a better reason than to see you, Idris."

"Aye, and right glad I am to see your face, Alf." Idris smiled. "What do you do in Spain. Live the life of a pampered Black?" His smiled was affectionate and teasing, remembering how he used to tease Black for his wealth.

"I had my own vault. I was lucky. It meant I could escape. There was nothing any of my family could do about Grandfather Cygnus's bequest, although they tried when I still hadn't married by the time I was thirty. But I wanted to do something. Can't just look at mountains all day. I learnt Healing. I thought there could be no better way to redeem my heritage than the Healing Arts."

"That's marvellous, Alf," Idris said, his voice soft with wonder and a fullness of heart. His Alf was a Healer. Never had a man turned on his heritage more fully. Idris felt prouder still.

"There isn't much more to tell, Idris. I want to know about you. Yours is ... well ... it's the real story for us, isn't it? Tell me, Idris. Everything that happened. Tell me about your ... children and ... and ... your wife."

Both men's rapt attention in each other suddenly snapped to the side. A wolf Patronus came gliding through the privacy curtain to stand before Idris. The voice of Remus Lupin was strained and breathy.

"A group of eight werewolves: David, Conway, Jethro, Freddie, Zebedee, Dollop, Spindle and Pisser coming immediately. We've just fought off Greyback and some of his pack. Identification question: what is Dollop's new nickname and who gave it to him?"

"That boy's timing is appalling," Idris grumbled deep in his chest as he straightened up in his chair and looked around to find Alphard staring at the dissipating wolf in utter confusion.

"Dollop?" Alphard repeated at last quizzically.

"Never mind that. Do I want a werewolf called Pisser in my pack?" Idris said with a deep chuckle. Then Idris's face became serious and he met Alphard's stormy eyes that now looked fearful. "I have to go. Greet these new recruits. I'm a beacon, you see," Idris said with, Alphard thought, some distaste.

"Beacon? No, I don't see," Alphard said weakly.

"It's a long story." Idris shook his head slightly. He had to leave. He had to see to these werewolves Remus Lupin was sending to him, but he didn't want to leave Alphard. Not yet. Not until he had to. _If he had to, _a treacherous voice whispered. If he'd consent, Idris would take him to his home. Alphard would see then. See what Idris had become. And see his wife – his children – his pack. Then he'd see if Alphard still wanted to fulfil his Pledge.

"If you've a mind, I'll tell it you," Idris said, as lightly as he could manage, hoping against all rationality that Alphard would say yes.

"I've a mind," Alphard said softly, not wanting to leave Idris now, not now he'd just found him. After all these years. Not now he was piecing together the history of his heart break.

Idris stood and held out one large hand to Alphard.

"Come."

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**Next chapter: Idris's story, and the Beacon explained.**

**Please read and review. **

**Thank you to Smurny, rubyrosa and Seeing Sasha for your kind reviews and to those who've alerted and favourited – for giving this story of a minor character and an OC some of your precious reading time – I hope you continue to enjoy it.**


	3. Restoration

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

* * *

**A/N: To those not reading **_**You Will Not Kiss Me,**_** this chapter takes place in the month before the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.**

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**Chapter 3: Restoration**

Alphard and Idris Apparated just outside a forest clearing. The mountainside was rugged and beautiful. Alphard thought he remembered it from all those years ago, but really – how could he? Unless perhaps it was a pack he had visited – and they had lied to him. It was possible. He released Idris's arm and walked alongside him.

The large man said nothing. His face was set. Alphard felt the thrum of old magic nearby. Idris stopped.

"Beyond is the pack's encampment, Alf."

Alphard understood then that he could feel the protective wards of the encampment.

"You've probably not seen its like before." A faint look of worry flitted across Idris's features, but he chased it away. It was only right he gave Alphard fair warning. The settlement had been rudimentary before. Now, the pack was enlarging with Remus Lupin's refugees, it really was a sight (and a smell) to behold! "Originally, the pack just lived in the roundhouse that you'll see. More werewolves have joined us over the past few months. I'm part of Albus Dumbledore's resistance plans – his beacon of the Light, he calls it. A pack that accepts werewolves not wanting the Dark path." He searched Alphard's face for traces of concern, regret or indecision, but saw none. "Come then."

Alphard had no concerns, although he was intrigued. He'd have time enough to ask Idris more about Dumbledore and his plans and why he needed the werewolves. He'd been out of Britain for so long, he knew nothing of its politics anymore.

He certainly had neither regret nor indecision. He didn't expect anything to be poetic or romantic about a werewolf pack; after all, he'd visited many, many packs over these past years when he'd looked for Idris and he knew how squalid and violent they could be. But just to be here, with Idris – nothing would fill him greater happiness than he was feeling at this moment.

Idris took Alphard's upper arm and together they passed through the enchantments.

The enchantments had hidden a huge temporary encampment. Wizard tents of varying sizes surrounded the ancient roundhouse. To Alphard's estimate, there must have been thirty tents. Since they undoubtedly were enlarged by extension charms, there was no telling how many werewolves were inside them. But outside, people milled around, speaking in twos or groups and here and there people were practising duelling or charms. Small fires, contained by magical braziers, dotted the scene, cauldrons suspended above them with either food cooking or potions brewing. Alphard could only quickly glance and take in the contents with a practised eye as they passed through. He watched the smoke coil upwards to be dissipated into invisibility as the protective enchantment Vanished it.

Idris strode confidently through it all, nodding to those who acknowledged him first. Alphard walked tall next to him, impervious to the insolent and resentful stares of so many indigent and poverty-stricken werewolves. He knew it wasn't merely his clothes. Had he thought, he should have transfigured them into something dull and ordinary. But, ultimately it was himself that was scorned and derided: he was a wizard. Each and every werewolf would know by his scent. He wasn't scared or even concerned, except for what those gathered might think of Idris.

Idris saw the baleful and hostile looks thrown at Alphard. He watched Alphard's insouciance in the face of it. Idris let it pass – for now. Idris had no Claim on Alphard to enforce with this pack or the satellite packs that were gathering. Be that as it may, if one Were set just one foot out of line with Alphard, Idris would make that werewolf very sorry indeed.

They navigated through the makeshift camp and the many tiers of tents and Alphard caught his first proper sight of the mediaeval roundhouse and the werewolves congregating around it. These werewolves weren't hostile – these were clearly Idris's own pack as all looked up to greet Idris with smiles.

"Idris!" said a black haired, brown eyed woman, her eyes crinkling in a warm smile as she pressed her hand to Idris's arm and looked questioningly at Alphard. He saw a flicker of confusion, undoubtedly at his rich clothing, so very out of place.

"Angharad. My wife," Idris said, his voice warm. Both men noticed a small dart of Angharad's eyes to Idris to be so described. "This, Angharad, is Alf, my old friend."

If Angharad knew who Alphard was, or rather had been, to her husband, Alphard could not detect it. She pressed her hands to his with another warm smile.

"Well met, Alf," she said and led him to the communal fire to share food and drink with him as the Alpha's guest.

Idris saw, however, the small flare of her nostrils that would tell her the men had touched, however briefly, in a kiss and that would smell their chemistry.

Alphard wouldn't realise, but he would come to understand, if – _if_ – he stayed, that Angharad was Idris's mate, the pack mother. For Idris to take another step with Alphard, it must be here and with Angharad's consent. He could never put her away from him, never shame her to the pack. He watched her now, kind and gentle, tend to her hearth guest and he watched Alphard attend her as if she were a lady of distinction. It made him smile.

He felt his chest clench. Could it happen for him? If Alphard were not too repulsed by what he saw and heard in the coming time - could he take this mate? This mate who should have been his so very long ago.

They had planned to be each other's first – each other's only – love.

/

_It was the day before Christmas Eve. Idris had smuggled Alphard into his boarding house lodgings as Madame Bowen had gone to visit her sister for Christmas. Alphard had told Idris he had his father's permission to explore Muggle London and could stay out until late. He hadn't anything of the sort, but he couldn't go for the whole of the Christmas holiday without seeing Idris – he just couldn't. It probably meant time in the attic but it would be worth it to be with Idris – a whole day to themselves – no school – no work – indoors. With a bed. _

_Alphard had brought a basket of bread, cold cuts, pickles and ginger beer that he had pilfered from the pantry for their lunch. Looking longingly at the bed, Alphard actually laid their picnic on the floor. They ate and talked and laughed over what they had done since school had broken up, as their hands and fingers played with each other's hair and hands, both suddenly overcome with crippling shyness that drew fierce blushes from both of them with each touch._

_Alphard knew it was his fault. He always blushed so fiercely. He didn't think he ever had before he and Idris had ... had what? _Become lovers_, his mind supplied. Lovers? He blushed even at his own thoughts. But oh! All he knew was his body felt these feelings and urges and they became stronger and stronger all the time. There wasn't one part of Idris he didn't want to know and touch. He thought of Idris all the time, and some of his thoughts were so lewd, they almost scared him; almost, but not quite. And the more he thought of Idris, the hotter his body would become and desire would settle like a dense fog in his head too. It was the utter consumption by his desire that embarrassed him for he was sure Idris was far more in control than he._

_It may well have been true that Idris was more controlled, but he felt just as passionately as Alphard. And Alphard's blushes made him so much more attractive. Whenever he blushed, Idris would colour too, partly because he worried that he pushed Alphard too quickly but partly in his own embarrassment that he was so overwhelmed by his feelings for the other boy. It seemed to him that the further they went to please each other in ways to love each other, the more defenceless they became with each other until ... well, Idris thought he blushed because Alphard held his soul when he held Idris in his arms. Idris was not ashamed. Not one bit of it. _

_So thinking, he steeled his resolve. When would they have another chance like this? To be naked in bed together? As soon as he thought it, the strength of his body's reaction startled him: his erection grew quickly and painfully, his groin burned as strong thrills shot to it, his skin tingled all over and the sides of his face heated. He wanted this so badly. He was sure Alphard did too._

"_Alf?" Idris murmured, his eyes wanted to drop to the floor, but no – holding his friend's beautiful grey eyes with his own dark brown ones. He picked up Alphard's hands in his own. "Please come to bed with me." Alphard blushed and bit his bottom lip. Idris thought it was beautiful. _

"_Should we?" Alphard gasped. "Will we be able to stop from ... you know?"_

"_We promised ourselves, Alf. Not yet. I wouldn't do that to you, and you wouldn't to me. We promised," Idris said gently. He knew he wouldn't push it, not when there was so much at stake. "But I'd very much like to be in a bed with you when we touch." There, he'd said it. It made such an odd squirming feeling in his stomach to say things so baldly._

_Alphard listened to Idris as he spoke. He thought Idris's voice was becoming deeper. Even his voice could thrill him to the core. Dear Merlin, he was so in love, it hurt him physically, but he was afraid he would lose control. It was himself he was afraid of; not Idris. To be in bed with Idris, and no clothes – no barrier to stop themselves. How would they? He found he could barely swallow he was so entranced by the idea of the whole of Idris's body under his hands._

_He couldn't speak. But he could show Idris. He got onto his knees and leant forward and kissed Idris as softly and as passionately as he could, with the palms of his hands resting on Idris's shoulders. And as their tongues wrapped around each other slowly, Alphard smoothed his hands along Idris's robe to his collar and carefully and slowly he began to unclasp his friend ... his lover's robe working as competently as his slightly trembling hands would allow. When Idris's robe was undone fully, Idris then undid Alphard's and pushed it from Alphard's shoulders so he was kneeling now just in his trousers. Alphard leant forward and pushed Idris's robes from his. Both of them stood and undid the other's ties on their trousers, but each smoothed their own trousers down and off._

_The stood before each other, each greedily taking in the sight of the other, unobstructed for the first time. Neither could speak, even to be embarrassed. Idris stepped forward, and gently placed his hands on Alphard's shoulders and drew him into a kiss. Alphard's hands found his hips (perfect and wonderful bones under his skin!) and pulled him so their hips and erections touched. Both gasped and kissed harder, as Idris ran his hands down Alphard's back and cupped his lovely, narrow backside and squeezed. Even that was almost too much and they had to stop and calm themselves. Then, on an unspoken cue, they ran their hands over all of each other, just to feel each other's skin unhindered, kissing all the while._

_It was Idris who broke the kiss, and led Alphard to his small bed and they lay down together. Idris pressed Alphard flat to the bed, and knelt next to him, his eyes heavy lidded with want at Alphard's body before him._

_Idris lay next to him, and kissed him deeply and his hand held Alphard's pelvis as he began to trail gentle kisses around Alphard's neck, making his skin tingle and Alphard moan softly. Idris continued kissing Alphard's chest, lightly grazing his nipple with his teeth, encouraged by Alphard's sighs and his hands starting to card his hair urgently. He continued his voyage of discovery with his tongue and lips, down Alphard's breastbone and down his midriff, listening to Alphard's breath become more and more irregular and feeling Alphard tense and gently writhe under him. It was a remarkable sensation to have all of Alphard under his hands. It turned him on as much as if he were being touched himself and as he approached Alphard's cock with his mouth, his own excitement was almost unbearable._

"_Oh Idris," Alphard gasped. "What are you doing?" Alphard thought his own voice sounded unattractively high. But the sensations were so strong, he thought he would lose control - like an animal – and then what would Idris think of him?_

"_I want to, Alf. I really want to. What we read in that book."_

_Alphard ran his hands through Idris's wonderful thick hair feverishly, even as his body squirmed uncontrollably as Idris looked up at Alphard only tantalising inches away from Alphard's cock. _

"_But ... but ..." Alphard stuttered, "that book said it was deviant ... it was corrupt! I can't let you do that!"_

"_Oh Alf," Idris smiled, pulling himself up Alphard's body, feathering it with light kisses as his head drew level with Alphard's. "That book says everything we do ... because we're men ... is deviant. Even kissing." He kissed Alphard hard. "I really want to – I want to taste all of you," Idris murmured and he began to trace small kisses down Alphard's neck once more and circled his tongue at the base of Alphard's neck. A small moan escaped from him and his body began to writhe gently once more._

_Even Idris's murmur was seductive. Alphard could never understand how Idris could be so sure of what he wanted, so able to say whatever he wanted when he, Alphard, invariably blushed every time he tried. But this! As Idris trailed his fingers up and down Alphard's body and his exquisite kisses down his sternum and gently flicked his tongue around Alphard's navel, Alphard thought he would melt – that his body would dissolve because of the intense heat in his core and groin. Unaware of what he was doing as he held on to Idris's hair, he sighed Idris's name like a prayer, like a mantra to hold on to his sanity as Idris's wonderful soft lips found the tip of his erection._

_He uttered a small cry. He had never felt anything like it. Indescribable in its intensity, as Idris's tongue gently played on the tip, each touch making Alphard's breath hitch as Idris drew his tongue down and up the underside. Alphard tried to watch, but with that his eyes rolled back in his head and he cried out hoarsely as Idris's tongue travelled deliciously back up his shaft. It was beyond anything he had thought he could feel. But then, he felt Idris's mouth close over his cock and inch by inch, he took Alphard in his mouth, moist and hot. Alphard cried out as he felt his mind start to unravel and his back arched violently. He didn't know – how could he? – that a body could feel this._

_Idris had wanted to taste Alphard – all of him – and as soon as he had started to touch Alphard's cock with his mouth, he was glad that he had. Alphard's taste and smell was Alphard intensified. It was delicious to him, and making Alphard moan and writhe was almost more than Idris's own body could bear. He watched Alphard through his eyelashes – how his body glistened with a sheen of perspiration, how his rib cage projected as he arched, how his Adam's apple became more prominent as he threw his head back to cry out in delirium. How Alphard's hands grasped at his hair more and more feverishly and how he was murmuring Idris's name and not even knowing he was doing it._

_He moved his own head faster now, realising the noises he was making were really quite loud, but he didn't care, not with Alphard now almost thrashing on the bed. It was beautiful and Idris himself writhed against the bed, his own cock painfully hard, and his balls hurting, but no matter. He wanted this. He wanted to see Alphard come like this – so beautifully abandoned. He could feel the change in Alphard's cock, the tightening of his balls, the straining in Alphard's pelvis. In that split second, Idris decided not to move away. He wanted to taste all of him._

_Alphard could only just think through his fug of utter ecstasy has he came hard into Idris's throat. He wanted to say no, not to follow through, but Idris held onto his hips hard, and as Alphard came, more fiercely than he thought possible, he roared from the base of his throat. He could not help himself. It was searing white hot bliss Alphard never knew was possible._

_And as the intensity began to ebb, Alphard felt his body start to tremble from the exertion and tears welled in his eyes. He didn't know why but he was grateful when his lover wrapped his strong arms around him tightly, helping him to calm from such a sublime feeling that was surely not meant for such a man as he._

_/_

Idris remembered now with piercing clarity as he regarded Alphard's profile talking with Angharad, how young Alphard had curled tightly into Idris's body, spent but so ecstatic, a slight tremble playing over his body and how he, Idris, had wrapped his arms around Alphard, so vulnerable but his to protect, as he kissed the crown of his head that lay on his chest, his black hair spread across him. They had spent that entire day in bed, exploring each other, making each other beautiful.

A beautiful memory. A perfect remembrance. One he had not thought of for these many decades past.

It had been their last time together before ... before Riddle had tricked him. He pushed that away. Not now. Not now. He stood and watched these two most precious people: his past and his present. He kept his outward appearance calm, but his heart hammered at the possibility – a possibility that yesterday had not even existed. Could they be his future?

His reverie was shattered by a riot of guffaws, laughter and shouting off to his left. He swiftly turned to the commotion. Gareth, one of his twin sons led eight werewolves to him. These must be the ones Remus Lupin had told him of. He frowned. He didn't think he had ever seen such a motley crew, especially for a crew so small. _What was the boy thinking?_

They each wore Muggle clothes, with vests emblazoned with the legend, "The Whitby Werewolves". No robes at all. _What the hell was this? _They had clearly recently duelled from the looks of some of their injuries. They looked around themselves, bewildered.

"Which of you is," Idris took a deep breath, controlling a sinking feeling, "Dollop?" He thought he could guess, and indeed a large man of dull aspect lumbered forward with his hand half-raised. He did not speak but he looked scared – scared like a child. Idris frowned.

"What is your new nickname?" Idris said, as gently as possible.

"Wallop!" the man said brightly, as if pleased he knew the answer.

"Who gave you that name?" Idris asked.

"Set Moe!" he said proudly. Idris nodded and gave the man a small smile to reassure him.

"Well done. Go with this woman," Idris said and indicated Angharad. "She'll look after you."

If the big man had reservations, they were lost in the instant Angharad took Wallop's hand to lead him to the fire to sit with her. Idris saw the man's expression change from fear to wonder. A man-boy. A damaged child grown into a man. He had seen more than he cared for – boys and girls hurt so badly, whether by physical or magical brutality, because they were werewolves, they were never right afterwards. His jaw worked at the thought. He inhaled deeply and faced the small group once more.

"Name's Idris," Idris announced, looking at each man in turn. "Alpha of this pack. Who's your leader?"

"Yo, Idris!" a voice called. From the back of the small group, a man swaggered to the fore and Idris raised his eyebrows in surprise at what he saw.

The man was stocky, with long blonde hair, and wearing an over-large trench coat with the collar raised over his Muggle vest with words. He stank of some herb – a dreaming herb, if Idris was not mistaken. This werewolf was no Alpha. There was no Alpha in this small pack at all. The blonde man came forward further to speak.

"I'm Conway," he said, trying to look imposing, but paling into mediocrity before Idris's commanding presence. Idris didn't sneer; he didn't need to. Conway visibly deflated and within a minute his stance was almost meek. He coughed. "This is Jethro, Zebedee, David, Spindle, Freddie and Pisser."

Each man muttered a small greeting.

"You," Idris said, looking at Pisser, a malformed, spiteful-looking man. "What is your real name?"

"I've been Pisser since I was a child. I like it!" the man said, defiantly, but Idris smelt his fear.

"Well, I don't," Idris snapped. "It's a child's insult. What is your given name?"

"I was Botolph ... before ..." Suddenly, the man voice stopped as if the memory itself lodged in his throat and he looked around himself fearfully, as if he suddenly realised where he was and who he was with.

"Botolph is a good name. It is your name here," Idris said with finality. The group seemed to shuffle their feet. "I need to tell Remus Lupin you are safe then find you somewhere to sleep."

_"Expecto Patronum!"_

The large silver Alpha wolf burst from Idris's wand, alert and ready.

"_Hoc nuntius _to Remus Lupin of the Order of the Phoenix." He looked at the strange group before him: men but not manly, werewolves who proclaimed their otherness on Muggle vests, men who said 'Yo', men who let themselves be called after animal waste, a pack with no Alpha. A muscle twitched under his eye. He really had only one thing to say to Remus Lupin.

"Are you kiddin' me, boy?" Idris rumbled, and sent his Patronus away with the message.

He turned back to the small group to start to talk to them but a brown haired young man, the one who answered to David, was staring at Alphard by the fire with his mouth agape.

"What is it, boy?" Idris scowled.

"Is that man," David stammered, "I mean – I suppose he can't be, or I'd have heard. But – is that man related to Sirius Black?"

Alphard's head shot up and his eyes went wide and, on the instant, he leapt up, grabbed a fistful of the young man's T-shirt and held him at wandpoint to the heart as he jutted his face down into the young man's face.

"My nephew is a Death Eater!" Alphard spat, feeling rage swell within him. His nephew was on the run. If this boy knew him then his boy must be a Death Eater too. "What do you know of him?"

"Nephew? No! No! You're wrong – not a Death Eater," David whimpered, his face covered in confusion as his hands scrabbled at the hand holding his T-shirt. "But please!" He looked around him wildly, fear oozing from every pore so that all the werewolves around stopped and stared. "Please. Can we speak alone?" he pleaded.

Idris grabbed Alphard's wrist and lowered it forcefully.

"Hear the boy out. Remus Lupin sent him," Idris said carefully and reasonably.

Idris got his oldest sons, Geraint and Gareth, to find a tent for the remaining six and then led David and Alphard, still shaking with anger, beyond the clearing and drew privacy wards around the three of them.

Stumbling over his words, David explained that Sirius Black was in the Order of the Phoenix. He was innocent but unable to prove his innocence as the true culprit had returned to the service of You-Know-Who. He believed it because his own mate was an Auror and she herself had recruited David to the Order of the Phoenix. All he could do was ask Albus Dumbledore to confirm it. He was the leader of the Order.

Alphard listened, breathing hard. Dare he believe two miracles in as many days? Was that even possible? And if it were true? Suddenly his vision narrowed almost to blackness. If it were true: what kind of an uncle was he to have left his nephew languishing in Azkaban? His chest constricted painfully.

David sent his own Patronus to Dumbledore asking him to contact Alphard himself.

Alphard was shaken. His whole world, turned so violently on itself so many times before, was turning again, and he could barely catch his breath. He listened as if outside of himself as David told Idris he would be leaving to return to London to his own mate. No, he wasn't a member of the Whitby Werewolves. He had joined with Remus Lupin and had agreed to see these werewolves to Idris. It was time for him to go home, in time to take his Wolfsbane, before the full moon. The young man left and Alphard suddenly found his knees weak, and he leant against the nearest tree. Idris grabbed his shoulder carefully.

"If it's true ... All these years – if it's true?" Alphard's head seemed to suddenly expand with horror and his skin prickled with shame. "What if I left my boy, and he was innocent!" he said, dropping his head into his hands.

"Be still, Alf. Wait till you hear from Dumbledore." Idris squeezed Alphard's shoulder. Alphard looked into Idris's eyes – those dark, deep eyes and found comfort in them.

"Come back to the fire. Speak with Angharad while I speak some more to these newcomers."

IL~AB~ IL~AB~ IL~AB

Alphard sat with Angharad and listened and watched as Angharad coaxed the large, slow man to tell her his story, such as it was. It was a pitiful story of a boy bitten young whose parents had little wits of their own. When his first transformation had come, they had beaten him so badly in an effort to contain the wolf that his wits were never quite right after that. Angharad had managed to discover that his name was Stacy and he was embarrassed because it was "a girly name".

Alphard interjected softly. "If I may, it's not necessarily a girl's name. It comes from Eustace. It means fruitful."

"So, you see," Angharad said encouragingly, "it's a fine name. Much better than Dollop." The large man looked at her as if she were an angel and nodded happily. He was Stacy once more.

Idris and his two eldest sons returned to the campfire and one took Stacy to be with his friends and Idris went to sit with Angharad and Alphard. He knew Angharad was curious, as surely as he knew Alphard would let Idris steer their course and that he trusted Idris as completely as he had when they were fifteen. The certainty of it lifted his heart and fortified him to try to find a way.

Then with a streak of white magic that was almost like lightning, a parchment wrapped with a phoenix feather drifted into to Alphard's hands. Idris and Angharad's eyes became wide, but both Idris and Alphard recognised the parchment and handwriting. So, their mysterious correspondent was Albus Dumbledore. With trembling hands and a worried look at Idris, Alphard opened the folded the sheets of parchment, recognised the charm that required him to cast his wand for the parchment to recognise him and he read.

He read the story of his nephew's rashness on the discovery of the murderous betrayal of his friends; of his nephew's innocence of murder, Muggle or wizard; of his nephew's ill-considered words on his arrest that sounded like confession; of his escape from Azkaban in the form of an animagus dog; of his failed attempt at retribution; of his flight from Hogwarts and return from abroad to protect his godson: the boy who lived, Harry Potter. Alphard drank it all in – his heart fluttering uncomfortably. If Dumbledore known where Alphard could be found in Spain to put him in touch with Idris, why hadn't he contacted him before? Was this some kind of game? Alphard could have helped. He could have sought justice, he bemoaned.

"Never mind that now," Idris growled, when Alphard railed in his disbelief. "Deal with what you have now. You need to go and see your nephew. What's to be done?"

"I'll write to Dumbledore. He says to charm this feather and it will find him."

"It's the full moon in five days. You can't be here unprotected. Would be a good time to suggest," offered Idris.

IL~AB~ IL~AB~ IL~AB

Idris had procured Alphard a small tent and Alphard had spent these few days talking to Idris and Angharad both. He walked occasionally on his own with Idris, but they did not kiss or touch. Alphard thought he understood. Idris was introducing Alphard to his mate by degrees. He was Alpha and could take a second mate – hell, he could take as many as he liked, but Idris wouldn't just foist them all into such a situation.

It was the oddest sensation to sleep on a ground sheet in a warded tent, under the stars, with only the clothes he stood in as his possessions. He already knew he would love to have Idris sleep alongside him, but Idris slept in the roundhouse with his wife. At this time, Alphard didn't care. If he understood Idris rightly, it would take time. Time to rebuild their own relationship, if they could. And if they could, to build the trust that Angharad would need. Time to acclimatise the pack to a wizard in their ranks. He had waited all these years – time, unless Death claimed him, he had in abundance.

IL~AB~ IL~AB~ IL~AB

Of course, Alphard knew the address. He grew up in this very house – this house with an attic room. But until he read this parchment, he could not recall it. _Fidelius_, he realised. He read:

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and the home of your nephew is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, West London._

It sent a shiver through him and he looked up to see his hated childhood home expand into view. Why? Why on earth would Sirius choose to be in there? In the parchment, Dumbledore had told him that Sirius would be at home and he had arranged that no-one would disturb them on this night of the full moon. Sirius did not know Alphard was coming, just that he was to expect a visitor.

As Alphard ascended the stone steps, he reflected as he trod that Idris would be changed and running with the moon. He reached the top step and turned to look at the moon.

No longer would he look to it and mourn his loss. He knew where his love was now under this moon. What would happen from now on, Alphard was unsure. But it was no longer the uncertainty of loss, but that excitement of a hope regained.

He turned back to the black lacquered door and was assailed with a different excitement – a nervous excitement that might see the return of a family. His mouth went dry as he opened the door. He walked through the hall. How had it become so decrepit? It was as if no-one had walked this hall for one hundred years. He looked at the portraits of his ancestors. A few of them stared wide-eyed with shock and grumbled at him, but one by one, they turned their backs on him, renouncing him as he had renounced them. He smiled with grim satisfaction and strode with resolution to the kitchen where his unspoken revealing charm told him his nephew waited.

He reached the kitchen door, tried to calm his hammering heart, and opened the door to see a man sitting at the kitchen table.

It was he. Older. Oh, so much older than he should look.

The boy stood. The man. Sirius stood so quickly, his chair fell back and clattered on the floor.

"Alphard?" Sirius said hoarsely, his eyes, a mirror of Alphard's own, suddenly wide with shock. "Uncle? But ... I was told ... I thought ..." His mouth opened and closed.

His nephew may have been hoarse, but Alphard could not speak at all, his throat was constricted by a large lump of emotion, his heart was full and his eyes prickled sharply with tears he did not think he could stop. He did not want to stop. He held out his arms, just has he had done when the boy – the man – was a child.

Sirius's own eyes welled, and his first steps were no more than staggers and he fell into his uncle's arms, clapping him hard on the back. Alphard heard him sniffle. He smiled once more. Walburga would have beaten him for sniffling alone. Alphard raised his eyes in grateful thanks for this embrace. It was strange how Alphard had never grieved for his sister or brother. But he had wept for Regulus and Sirius.

He and Sirius held on to each other, hardly daring to believe the truth of family regained. He stroked Sirius's hair. "Boy," he said quietly, wondering if his heart would ever calm.

Eventually, he pushed Sirius gently away to behold him. Too old – he looked too old. He supposed that prolonged exposure to Dementors had almost sucked the life from him. He held his wrists firmly and sat him on a chair.

And so they talked. They talked into the night, and through to dawn. Sirius told him everything in his own words, confirming everything Dumbledore had said in the letter. Alphard told Sirius how he had renounced the Black estate by blood ritual when he thought Sirius a murderer and lived in the Pyrenees since. Alphard talked of strategies to clear Sirius's name, becoming frustrated when Sirius told him they could not get to Pettigrew because he was firmly ensconced with Riddle.

"Is there no way you can get out of this house?" Alphard said, looking around the dismal kitchen.

"I used to be able to go for walks on a lead with Remus, but the Death Eaters know my animagus form now. It's not safe. Do you still transform?" Sirius asked.

"Oh yes. I think that's why I loved Spain so much. Up in the mountains. Somehow there was an affinity," Alphard said wistfully.

"I should say so! When we were trying for our form, I hope I'd be a dog like yours. I couldn't believe it that I could be so different!"

"Only in colour. Granted, your form is rather reminiscent of the Grim!"

"I wanted to be a white dog, like yours."

"Odd, don't you think, that my animagus form protects herds from bears and wolves?" Then Alphard smiled wickedly at Sirius. "Shall we annoy the spirit of your mother?"

Alphard changed seamlessly into the large Pyrenean Mountain Dog and Sirius followed into the black hound that tore off down the hall with the white dog in pursuit, skidding as they turned and then up the first flight of stairs - up the second - up the third -

The fourth. The dogs came to a halt, panting, and easily became men again, staring at the closed door to the attic room. They both seemed to seethe as they stared at the door, then Sirius slipped back into a dog and cocked his leg against the door.

"Ha!" Alphard barked a laugh, transformed and sped off down the stairs with the black dog at his heels skidding back into the kitchen, where they both transformed once more, Alphard more out of breath than he would wish.

Sirius flung himself into a chair and regarded his uncle seriously.

"Do you recall why I wanted to become an animagus? Why I hounded you to help me?"

"Poor pun, Sirius," Alphard chided, collecting his cloak to prepare for his return journey.

Sirius laughed. "But do you?"

"No. You just said, you had to for one of your friends. I couldn't make head nor tail of it at the time, but it was fun teaching you."

"It was for Remus, Uncle. Our werewolf friend."

"But why would that help?"

"A werewolf seeks human blood, not that of an animal. We three became animagi so we could keep Remus company at the full moon. When we were with him, he ran with us, his transformation wasn't so painful and he didn't seek prey."

"So why aren't you with him tonight?" Alphard asked.

"He takes Wolfsbane and stays with his wizard mate," Sirius said, seemingly innocently enough, but its effect on Alphard was electric as he put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Idris would never take Wolfsbane, but perhaps Alphard wouldn't have to leave at the next full moon.

"So, there was no Wolfsbane then, but, if you transformed, his wolf would not hurt you?" Alphard repeated to confirm.

"That's right. So you see: you could be with Idris. I mean, you could if you wanted." Alphard narrowed his eyes at his nephew, who clearly knew more than he ought - he wondered how much. Just what had Dumbledore told him? Or was it this werewolf, Remus?

"How does it feel – to have found him? After all these years?" Sirius pursued.

Alphard smile hugely, as a thought struck him.

"That reminds me. Does my dearest sister have a portrait?"

"Does she ever," Sirius laughed. "It's the monstrosity behind that curtain. I don't think you want to wake her. She's rather colourful in her vitriol."

"Well, it wouldn't be polite to visit without passing the time with the lady of the house, would it?" Alphard said lightly, and then raised an eye brow ironically to Sirius who seemed to relax. Alphard stood before the portrait and flicked his wand to swipe the curtain open.

"Sister dearest," he smirked.

"YOU! Vile abomination to set foot in this house! Foul invert! Unnatural filth! Bestial pervert, corrupted by half-blood filth. DISGRACE AND SMEAR ON THE NAME OF BLACK! NO BROTHER OF MINE! ABHORRENT BY-BLOW BESMIRCHING AND DEFILING THE PROUD NAME OF BLACK!"

Alphard watched the ruined features, the eyes popping and the mouth twisting viciously as the portrait screamed her malice and bile at him. Madness enshrined in magical oils.

"Oh sister dear," he sang, and slouched against the heavily gilded frame (in a way that would have infuriated his father beyond all reason, he thought with satisfaction). His face was no further than a foot away from that of his painted sister. He whispered sweetly, "I found him. I found my Idris."

He stood back and let his head fall in something like catharsis as he savoured her demented shrieking and wailing, louder and more shrill than he thought possible, his own cruel smile on his face to know he could torment her eternity with that knowledge. He raised his face, smiled crookedly at Sirius, and flicked his wand to close the curtain over her.

"Well, there's a bit of variation. I haven't heard 'by-blow' before," Sirius said. "I thought I'd heard all her invective."

"Ah. I believe that insult has always been particular to me. She certainly warms to her themes, doesn't she?" Alphard smiled at Sirius once more as he buttoned the clasp on his travelling cloak as Sirius, still beaming, followed him down the hall.

"We must set to work, Sirius, to clear your name. I may not have influence as a Black anymore, but Galleons I have in abundance. I know how to work the system. Whatever a Malfoy can buy – I can buy more!" Alphard laughed. "But no. I jest. I can gain access to some of the best legal minds, and we will do so. I'll get to work tomorrow, before I go back to Wales."

Sirius reached out and touched his uncle's arm. "You'll go back to Idris for good ... now you've found him, won't you?"

Sirius did know enough after all. Well, Alphard thought, Sirius's best friend was the same: why hide this? Times had changed.

"If I can. It's been a long time. Much has happened," Alphard confirmed quietly.

"But it's what you want?"

"Oh yes, Sirius. My whole life has been in shadow because of this. And now? Yes, it's what I want." They had reached the front door. Alphard and Sirius embraced once more, the type of bear hug in which the men of the Black family never indulged: the warm embrace of family and love.

"When I'm cleared, my godson will come and live with me," Sirius said excitedly.

"And your new lady friend, Emmeline?" Alphard asked lightly.

"Early days, uncle, early days," Sirius laughed. "But I hope I'll see more of you too."

"Of course! I never would have thought I could have so much restored to me, Sirius. I feel like a man re-born." He held Sirius at arm's length again, and then held his nephew's face in his hands, feeling no man of his age should feel so ridiculously happy, as tears pricked at his eyes once more. Sirius grinned at him, almost looking as young as he should.

Alphard grinned back. "My Gryffindor."

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**Next chapter: Idris's story continues.**

**Please read and review. **

**Thank you to Seeing Sasha, Aynslesa and Smurny for your kind reviews.**


	4. Wandsong

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

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Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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**Chapter 4: Wandsong **

Alphard was away in London, visiting his nephew for the first time in fifteen years.

Idris and Angharad walked together.

At first, Idris was tempted to scowl at the lumbering man-boy who trailed like a large guard dog after Angharad because what they needed to discuss was more private than anything they had discussed before. The pack was not a place for secrets, after all. He knew she'd already scented the nature of his feelings for Alphard and that they were reciprocated. He needed to explain it all and ask her for her understanding, even her forgiveness. He had not reckoned on an audience although he knew, sadly, that Stacy understood very little.

He asked Angharad to sit on a bench and he cast privacy charms around them. Stacy sat cross-legged at Angharad's feet, as if he were a toddler, and he played with some twigs on the ground.

Idris sat, his hands braced on his knees, wondering where to begin. Angharad watched him closely as he scrubbed his chin with one of his hands.

"D'ye wish to tell me about Alf?" she asked, bending her head slightly to catch his eyes that seemed to search the dirt. He looked up at her gratefully with a relieved smile.

"Aye," he said. "Aye, I do that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Y'remember I told Remus Lupin that my best friend at school was Alphard Black?" Angharad nodded with a smile. She already knew what he wanted to tell her, but he needed to tell her in his own way. Idris coughed to clear his throat.

"Alphard and me ... well ... we were special friends ... d'y'understand?" Idris looked into Angharad's soft gaze and she smiled and nodded again to encourage him. It was so difficult.

"Even though we were boys - young men - we loved each other, but we were afraid of our families and we were too scared to ... er ... be together. Y'understand?"

"Aye, Idris. I understand." Idris nodded, now seeming to lose confidence again and he silently collected his thoughts for a while.

"We Pledged on our magic to be together when we were of age, me and Alf. We Pledged within the great forest among the trees. They were our witnesses. They heard our Pledge."

Angharad knew that wood sang to Idris, especially wand wood. If he said they heard him, she believed him.

"You know what happened then ... how I was Turned and taken away by Vargulf; escaped to my father but he denounced me, chased me away and proclaimed me dead."

Angharad could do no more than whisper her acknowledgement of her mate's pain as she took his hand.

"Alf looked for me for years. Went round the packs in Britain and on the continent. I heard from the running wolves that he looked for me. I never let him find me though. Figured a fine man like him had no need of a werewolf."

He smiled at her, a small smile but his eyes were haunted with ancient pain and she heard the catch in his voice. He reached inside his robe and pulled out the parchment that he now knew came from Albus Dumbledore. He passed it to Angharad to read.

"I had to see. I had to know," Idris's voice was small. "As soon as I set eyes on him again ..." he looked into her eyes, almost pleading for her understanding, "it was like we'd never been parted. Everything I had ever felt for him was fresh and ... and ... sharp. My Pledge called on me. I felt it in my magic."

He tore his eyes away from his calm mate, who cast no blame on him or anger, but waited to listen him. The perfect mate; the perfect pack mother. The wizard in him told him it was wrong to ask this of her. The wolf in him told him it was his right. His magic told him he had a Pledge to fulfil.

"So, you and Alf were ... like Remus Lupin and Seth Moore?" she said quietly, when Idris had been quiet, seemingly unable to speak, to prompt him.

"Aye, but we were young. We never fulfilled our Pledge," Idris said, watching her expression for revulsion, but seeing none.

"You love him?" she asked simply.

"Aye," he said, feeling he should be surprised by that.

"Do you want to just mate with him or Claim him too?" Angharad asked, quite matter-of-factly. Idris sometimes forgot that Angharad was a born werewolf who had come from a large pack that had had male couples. She perhaps was more pragmatic than he.

"Aye, I want to Claim him," Idris said and then rushed on to say, "as well."

"You have never brought another mate to our bed in all our years together," Angharad said philosophically.

"No, Angharad. I never wanted to bring another."

"But you want this man?"

"Aye. I want this man."

"Will you put me out?" Angharad asked, afraid her voice would betray her fear that her time as pack mother had come to an end, as it so surely would one day.

"No. I will not put you out for Alf. If you tell me you cannot share our bed, I will not bring him to it. If you tell me I am not to Claim him, I will respect it. I don't ask for him because I no longer love you. He's been mine always. I ask you not to deny me this. We Pledged, Alf and me. Now he's with me, it hurts me to my bones not to have him. I don't want to shame you or betray you. Please give me this, Angharad." His rush of words stopped at Angharad's expression of wonder that he could say so much and so passionately when he was usually a man of so few words.

"All these years, Idris, I wondered if you would bring a younger woman to our bed. I expected it. Now you wish to bring a man of your own age – and a wizard!" Angharad said softly, not hiding her amazement. She shook her head. "I like Alf. He is a healer and is patient with our old and young ones alike. If he were a woman with all these skills, I would not deny your right to it. I will not deny it because he is a man."

Idris's face cracked into an enormous smile and he jumped up, startling Stacy, and grabbed Angharad by the waist and twirled her. Stacy clapped when Angharad laughed at Idris's happiness.

"Before you squeeze the life from me!" she spluttered. "Listen to me."

Idris put her down as she held both his hands and sat down again.

"Alf is a wizard, Idris. I watched and spoke to Seth Moore. They are not like us. You need to speak to him. Make sure he understands what it means to be a mate in a werewolf pack."

oooOOOooo

For a month, Alphard's step had been young again. It didn't matter that he had white wings in his hair, or that his first love's hair was now snow white, when once it had been raven black. If anything, that white hair made Idris's eyes seem darker and more intense. For a month, Alphard was sure no man alive was happier than he.

He had visited his nephew another couple of times before the next full moon. Sirius had even given him a box of old mementoes he had forgotten. He had engaged the foremost Wizarding Rights advocate, Eideger Sneed, to handle his nephew's case. They had kept it under wraps. Sirius wanted to surprise everyone, especially his godson and his friends, with a full pardon when it finally came through. Sneed was sure it would come with the evidence he was starting to accumulate and the breaches of procedure that Alphard had detailed to him. Fudge couldn't keep using Sirius as a convenient scapegoat once Sneed had amassed his case. He thought it would be probably be no more than six months. It was a shame that Dumbledore had been forced off the Wizengamot by Fudge; he could have forced it through sooner.

Alphard received weekly updates of Sneed's progress and letters from Sirius at the Boar's Head, for which the landlord was handsomely remunerated. Sirius's letters were always daft, and contained nothing of import, in case they were intercepted on their way, but Alphard enjoyed reading his nephew's silliness. He even detailed his arguments with Walburga's portrait or his fruitless attempts to get the decrepit house-elf to clean.

For Alphard, who had been alone, by choice, for so long, to have this wealth of familial intimacy and the animus of a cause was thrilling.

And to crown it all, there was Idris. Idris, whose very proximity to him would quicken him. And now, with what Sirius had told him of a way that Alphard could be with Idris at full moon – if Idris wanted him to be, of course.

Idris was stunned to learn that Alphard had learnt to be an Animagus. Of course, they had been too young when he had last seen him.

"When?" he said. "How old were you?"

"Eighteen, when I finally managed it. Dumbledore was Transfiguration Master, and he helped me. Thing is, Idris, I really wanted my form to be a wolf. I tried so hard. Dumbledore told me there was no way I could influence it, no matter how hard I tried, and I suppose he was right."

"So?" Idris said impatiently. "What can you become? Show me?"

"It's - well - I suppose it's close ..."

"Well, go on!"

Alphard smoothly melted into a large white mountain dog that sat in front of Idris and barked loudly at him, as he sat on the bench, his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide in surprise.

"A shepherd dog?" he said incredulously. Alphard changed back effortlessly.

"Yes," Alphard said, his eyebrows raised in a bemused expression. "A Pyrenean Mountain Dog. It ... um ... fights wolves ... and bears ... apparently."

Idris barked an enormous laugh and slapped his thigh, laughing uproariously as Alphard watched him, completely confused.

"Fights ... fights ... wolves. Oh my ..." he gasped out, as he wiped tears of laughter away and draped an arm over Alphard. "It's very funny y'know." He whimpered as he struggled to control his laughter. Eventually, his laughter subsided.

"Perhaps, it's not so strange," Idris said, the odd snort still interrupting his speech. "D'ye keep your mind when you become this dog?"

"Mostly, yes," Alphard said. "I want to do dog-like things though, like chase my tail," he laughed softly, "but, yes, I keep my mind."

"A guardian dog," Idris nodded as he was thinking. "Perhaps, you are meant to be our guardian, Alf. Our guardian at the full moon."

oooOOOooo

He had a tent just outside the roundhouse. In the month since Idris had first brought him there, he had furnished it with his most beloved items from his home in Spain, but only after Angharad had invited him to fetch them, with her blessing.

It was the strangest of situations. He and Idris were never really alone. Of course, they would walk and talk together, but never out of sight of the pack. Alphard instinctively understood that to do so would dishonour Angharad. So they didn't touch, though his Pledge pulled at him through his magic to touch the man he loved. The crackle of magic between them was palpable. But they were men, not youngsters anymore. They could restrain themselves although it sometimes made Alphard feel sick with unfulfilled desire. He would wait.

They talked of many things, but they started with Riddle. It all started and ended with Riddle.

_/_

"_So, Lydiard, I hear you work at Ollivander's in the summer?" the handsome prefect asked Idris as he studied in the library, waiting for Alphard to finish Ancient Runes. _

"_That's right," Idris said, and returned to his studying._

"_Is it ... interesting? Do you learn about which woods go with which cores?" Riddle asked, his countenance open, his expression seemingly genuine._

"_Oh yes," said Idris, his love of Wandsong overcoming his natural suspicions of the Slytherin that Alphard distrusted so much. "Do you know much about it?"_

_Riddle slid onto a chair near him, his bearing almost regal._

"_I've read some wand lore ..." Riddle started and Idris was immediately intrigued. He didn't know any students who had read about wand lore. "It's a fascinating branch of magic although I think it may be too complex for me."_

_Something about this statement struck Idris as not quite ... right. He knew that Riddle was very clever. He was known to be the brightest boy in the school. Why would he lie?_

"_I don't know if it's complex or not, Riddle. I understand it well enough. I consider myself lucky."_

"_Ah," said Riddle, and he eased back into the chair, "but you hear Wandsong, so you must be at an advantage, surely?"_

"_Yes, I think I am. Shall I tell you about your wand?" he offered, smiling. Riddle smiled back. It was a handsome smile, but Idris wasn't sure it was in Riddle's eyes too. Riddle passed over his wand with a flourish. It was clear: Riddle loved his wand very much. Even before Idris took it in his hands, he could see it was polished and cared for._

_He held it in the palms of his hands, and rolled it in his fingertips and then held the much-loved wand to his ear. And froze. The Wandsong was dissonant: it had cast Dark magic. Often._

"_Yew and Phoenix feather," Idris said quietly, handing the wand back carefully, as if it might cast an Unforgiveable on him of its own accord. He almost felt it could._

"_I can understand recognising a wood by its look and feel, but surely you can't hear it," Riddle said, leaning forward, clasping his hands, looking at Idris earnestly._

"_I hear if a wood will be good for a wand just as I know the best cores for wands. I know if woods and cores go together and if they'll match a wizard. I know if a wand is injured ..."_

"_Injured ... like it has feelings!" Riddle said scornfully._

"_That's what I know," said Idris firmly, now wishing the prefect would go away, annoyed with himself for continuing the conversation._

"_If you say so," Riddle said quickly, seeing the boy was closing down. "It's just - I've never heard of wands being spoken of in that way before."_

_Idris didn't want to speak to Riddle anymore, not now he knew he'd done Dark magic with his wand. He made him uncomfortable._

"_I have to go now," he said, and pulled together his books, parchment and quills into his leather satchel._

"_I'd like you to stay and talk to me for a while longer," Riddle said, not smiling now._

"_I don't think so," Idris replied and moved away quickly. As he got to the library doors, Riddle's hangers-on blocked Idris's exit. _

"_You disgraceful little half-blood! Don't you walk away from your betters without permission! Know your place," Abraxas Malfoy sneered and Hallam Rosier laughed (like a donkey, in Idris's opinion)._

_Even at fifteen, Idris was stockier than most, although he wasn't as tall as Alphard. He pushed Hallam Rosier out of his way, only to have his arm grabbed viciously by Malfoy. Idris punched him then pushed him over and stalked away, casting a quick look behind him to see Tom Riddle, with an ugly sneer on his face._

_Merlin knew how much trouble he'd be in now, duelling like a Muggle. It always upset his father when he did that. Idris had grown up on a working farm, with Muggle farmhands. They duelled a lot. Idris found he was quite good at it. Still, at least his father wouldn't complain about the identity of the recipient of his fist: if there was one thing his father hated more than a Black; it was a Malfoy._

_/_

_The evening air was crisp and cold, turning Idris's breath to icy vapour as he left Ollivander's for the day. It was his first day back after Christmas. There had been a lot to do. As he started towards his lodgings, Tom Riddle fell into step with him, seemingly out of nowhere._

"_Lydiard. Good to see you," Riddle said, as if their meeting were completely by chance as he rubbed his gloved hands together against the cold December air. "Come and have a glass of mead with me."_

"_Uh. I don't think so. I need to get back to my lodgings for dinner," Idris said glancing at Riddle warily, but Riddle grabbed Idris's elbow and steered him along the cobbled pavement._

"_Oh, come along. Just one to toast the season!" he said, full of false bonhomie as he dragged Idris into the Leaky Cauldron. Idris considered shoving Riddle away, but this was public, wasn't it? It would be safe._

_Riddle was easy company this evening. He apologised to Idris for the last time they had talked and for his friends. He said he'd been disgusted by their behaviour. If only Idris had seen his face, he would have known how disgusted he was. Idris felt confused. He had seen Riddle's face. He had thought the disgust was aimed at him. Perhaps he had misjudged him. He took a sip of his mead. He liked mead, although he didn't get to drink much of it._

_Riddle spoke to Idris of his work, gradually encouraging the boy to speak more and didn't deride it once when Idris eventually warmed to his theme. He told Riddle that a wand could be hurt by poorly-cast spells or by too much power being channelled through them. The wand chose the wizard that would suit its power. A weak wand would choose a weak wizard, or it would be shattered by too much power; a powerful wizard needed a powerful wand to channel magic with strength. Riddle seemed interested, properly so, this time. Eventually, he asked how many wands Ollivander kept in his shop. How fast the turnover was? Were there any that had been there a long time? Perhaps, too long? Gathering dust?_

_They were odd questions. Idris couldn't imagine why anyone would want to know. He knew some wands had been there hundreds and hundreds of years but Mr Ollivander said, "They will choose the right wizard one day as surely as the sun will rise and the moon will set, it will be so." That's what he said._

_Riddle sighed heavily and wondered if that was true, or did those wands remain unused and uncared for until the woodworm found them and the damp set in? Riddle had friends who could always use spare wands. They'd be paid for. Oh yes. There'd be no need to worry about that. They could meet again and if Idris could just see his way to bring a few with him ..._

_Idris felt quite emotional – he didn't want wands languishing without an owner. But he also knew wizards only had to go into the shop to buy a second wand from Mr Ollivander. It didn't need to be done on the sly. Something was wrong, but he felt a bit thick-headed. He thought perhaps he shouldn't have had more than one glass of mead. He thought perhaps he had had three now. He started to feel a little panicky. He shouldn't be out too late in London, even Wizarding London, by himself._

_He looked at Riddle. He used to think he was handsome, but looking at him by the flickering firelight, he thought there was a mean cast to his mouth._

"_No, Riddle. I don't think so," he said, more bravely than he really felt. "I don't know that you're being straight with me." He got up from the table and reached for his cloak._

"_No, Lydiard. You will do as I say," Riddle hissed, and Idris felt as if something nudged at his mind, making him feel oddly happy. "You'll go home tonight, and tomorrow you'll get me five wands: five fine wands of oak and mahogany with strong cores and you will bring them to the back of the shop ..." _

_He could feel himself feeling quite happy about the order, but then part of his mind shouted 'NO! Why would I?' Idris shook himself violently and Riddle stepped back, looking shocked._

"_No, Riddle. I won't! I won't do any of that. Now you leave me be, or I'll tell Mr Ollivander and Headmaster Dippet what you just did. I know what that was ..."_

_Riddle hissed – honestly, truly, hissed like a cat ... or a snake ... and Idris rushed to the Floo, called his address in Fye Foot Lane to go home._

_/_

_He should have known. Should have known the note wasn't genuine. The note certainly looked like Alphard's handwriting. It asked him to come to meet Alphard at the clearing in the woods of Richmond Park after Idris finished in the shop on the Saturday. Alphard said he had been punished again, and needed to see Idris. Idris so wished they could be seventeen soon so they could run away for good. Alphard's father was always hurting him; or rather making other things hurt him. Idris's father wasn't so bad, but he did have an awfully cruel tongue. He could shame Idris into tears of worthlessness._

_And now he waited. It was a huge park. There were woodlands and deer. He felt quite at home. He even listened to the song of a few Great Oaks as he waited. He waited and waited, long after it was safe for him to be out on a mid-winter night. He stamped the ground to try to bring some feeling back into his feet, they were so cold, and wrapped his arms around himself and beat his hands against them. He heard a twig snap. He turned sharply._

"_Alf? Alf, is that you?"_

_He saw the eyes – they flashed orange to red. Then he heard the thing snarling – an ugly sound deep in its throat. He heard his own breath hitch in terror as he raised his wand, shaking terribly, to the slowly advancing creature ... huge - grey - shaggy - monstrous - wolf!_

_Spittle flying, growling savagely - it leapt!_

_Idris stumbled backwards in mindless terror, and then:_

_STUPEFY!_

_Too late. He felt the wolf's hot, foetid breath as the beast clamped its jaws on his shoulder, shaking him and dragging him across the ground like a rag doll._

_Searing pain as its fangs pierced and tore his flesh, oh such pain!_

_Such howling and harsh screaming._

_His own._

_Blackness._

_/_

The two men sat opposite each other, Idris looking down to the ground as he finished the tale, his voice becoming thick as he remembered his terror. He no longer remembered the pain, but he would always remember the terror. Alphard wanted to hold him, but he pleased Idris wasn't looking at him as tears coursed freely down his face. _My poor Idris._

To think: Riddle had lured him there pretending to be Alphard. Walburga would have told him about the punishments, shown him Alphard's handwriting. Hateful hag! He was glad she was dead. Glad she died of being steeped in Dark magic in that accursed house for so long, like most of his relatives had. Good - he was glad. He breathed deeply to calm himself. He reached forward and took Idris's hands in his. It was enough for today. More than enough for both of them.

oooOOOooo

He worked with the old werewolves using his Healing skills, showing Angharad simple Healing spells and salves to add to her knowledge. He and Angharad talked and walked together. He thought she was a magnificent woman and understood why a man would love her. Behind her, Stacy always trailed, her constant daytime companion. As they talked, so they talked to Stacy also, trying to coax him to speak more. He was shy from years of bullying and beatings, but over this month, their attentions were bearing fruit and he spoke haltingly to them, if they kept their questions simple and never criticised his answer.

Then one early morning before breakfast, Stacy and Botolph came to Alphard as he talked with Angharad about the brewing of a nerve salve he was going to teach her.

"_Secto tronum?"_ Stacy said, shaking his wand.

"He wants to cast a Patronus charm," Botoph explained. "He keeps asking us. Well, I've only ever been able to cast a shield form, like most of the guys. And Spindle can't cast it at all."

"Do you mean a Patronus Charm, Stacy? Do you want me to help you cast it?" Alphard asked Stacy.

Stacy looked from Alphard to Angharad and to the tip of his wand once more and shrugged his shoulders.

"Remus done it," Stacy leant forward and whispered confidentially, a secret of great import. "I saw Idris done it too." He nodded his head with certainty. "_Secto tronum_ makes a wolf. Stacy make a wolf too. Alf show me."

Alphard smiled broadly.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ he incanted, and a huge silver dog erupted from his wand.

Stacy squealed and fell on his backside.

"Wolf?"

"It's a dog," Alphard said gently. "A different type of wolf."

Then Angharad Conjured her Patronus, clearly a handsome she-wolf.

Those in the tents around them began to gather to watch, as Stacy laughed and clapped his hands together pointing at the ethereal forms.

"What's going on?" Idris said, hearing the commotion from where he and some others were practising duelling. He saw the silver forms.

Alphard's Patronus was the guardian dog too. The beast was huge. And yet, Alphard was tall and slim. More and more, Idris was sure that it signified. Idris Conjured his own slightly larger Patronus that stood beside Angharad's, but both were dwarfed by the mountain dog next to them.

Stacy clapped his hands harder and stood, as the crowd murmured around them and the forms evanesced.

"Stacy want a wolf," Stacy said. "Alf show me."

Now, Alphard knew that Stacy had magic, but his magic was wild, like a child's accidental magic. He had seen his wand, although Alphard had never seen Stacy cast a successful spell. No doubt part of the problem was Stacy's inability to enunciate a spell but probably the wand should be checked as well, in case it was second-hand or even stolen. He looked over to Idris as Stacy carried on shaking his wand.

Idris understood and went to Stacy.

"Boy," he said, his voice deep and resonant. Stacy's eyes opened wide with reverence and some fear even though he was even larger than Idris himself. "May I look at your wand?" Idris held out a large hand. Stacy looked worriedly from Alphard to Angharad who both nodded. He shuffled from one foot to the other for a long time, but no-one chided him or rushed him, and Idris's hand remained open. Stacy made his decision and carefully placed his clearly beloved wand into Idris's care.

Idris closed his eyes and felt the wood resonate through his fingertips and he rolled it gently between his fingers and held it to his ear, his expression transfixed as he listen to the song of Stacy's wand. He felt a sharp sting in the back of his eyes. This wand had chosen this wizard, but the wizard's magic was broken. The Wandsong was stifled.

"Ash and unicorn hair," Idris said softly, opening his eyes and regarding Stacy. "It is a fine, strong wand and it is loyal to you. We need to work on your magic then you can produce a wolf. Will you work hard on your spells, Stacy?"

"Too stupid to learn," Stacy said quietly, looking at the ground and then looking over to the axes. That was all he was fit for. Chopping and hauling wood. He was good at that.

"I could teach you some spells, Stacy, and we could work up to making a wolf. Would you like that?" Alphard said.

Stacy looked at each of three of them, looking for the world like he was holding back tears. Then he shook his head gently. "Too stupid." His voice was almost a whisper and Idris was pained to see a reflexive flinch as the man turned from them. He knew what it meant.

"Boy," Idris said, and Stacy turned his odd, dull face to him, his eyes a little frightened. "Would you like to see me make a wolf with your wand?"

Stacy grinned broadly, his worry forgotten instantly, and he clapped his large hands together and dumped himself on the floor heavily to watch.

Idris Conjured his Patronus with the ash wand. It was difficult with another's wand. There was always some reluctance when a wand's allegiance hadn't changed, but with this wand, the wand sang to him to be used for a powerful spell, and wolf appeared, bright and resonant.

"Take lessons with Alf, boy, and one day your wand will do this for you too."

Stacy's face was slack with wonder, his normally dull eyes alight, as he stretched out one beefy hand to try to stroke the luminescent form.

"What was the first Charm you learnt, Alf?" Angharad asked.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ Alphard and Idris said together, and Alphard smiled broadly as he said, "As good a place to start as any."

"Perhaps the cubs can join ..." Angharad suggested tentatively.

"Alphard Black's seminary for werewolf cubs?" Alphard laughed good-naturedly. "Perhaps, but separately. I think we should teach Stacy on his own."

"We?" Angharad said, with a soft smile.

"Absolutely. I don't think he'll learn without you."

Idris smiled, watching the two he loved, and he felt his chest swell. The pack mother and – maybe – the pack's healer and teacher. Their guardian.

It was perfection for him that Angharad seemed to understand Idris's long-held desire, not just acquiesce in it. Alphard's grace and good temper made him an easy prospect for her to accept as a second mate. He didn't seem to share Seth Moore's deep antagonism against being perceived as less than male because he lay with a man. None of this seemed to worry Alphard that certain members of the pack considered him ... not quite male. He was comfortable as himself; he had nothing to prove.

"Idris, I'm too old to worry about that! I'm here with you – after all these years. Name-calling or whispering behind my back is hardly going to worry me. It's not as if I would have a place in the pack if it were not for you," he said, when Idris asked.

oooOOOooo

After this full moon, Idris and Angharad would take him as their mate.

When they first told him the plan, Alphard had nearly choked. He had never had sex with a woman. He didn't want to start now, he told Idris, who roared with laughter.

"Nor will you with this woman, my dear old friend, unless you want me to kill you!" Idris had guffawed at Alphard, making him flush. "No-one touches Angharad and, once I Claim you, no-one may touch you." He laughed at Alphard's bemused expression. "It means you are my other mate with Angharad's blessing. She is my mate and the pack mother. She takes precedence in the pack."

"So I continue to sleep here, in my tent?" Alphard asked, just too confused.

"Usually, an Alpha's mate is Claimed before the whole pack. We've discussed it, Angharad and me, knowin' you're a wizard and may find it too public. So, we will mark you then I will have you here, away from their view."

Alphard coughed. Well, that was matter of fact!

"So, if I were wolfkind, you'd have both of us in bed with you?" Idris nodded. "And you choose which of us you want on any given night?" Idris nodded again. "Well, you certainly have it with jam on, don't you?" Alphard said, his eyes wide as heated embarrassment shot up his cheeks.

Idris felt his stomach flip. He was fifteen again, watching Alphard blush. It was pure joy.

"You may come to embrace life in the roundhouse with us one day. But you are a wizard and we had a wizard here for a while with Remus Lupin. Privacy and things like that were important to him and we think they will be for you so we will try it this way first - and see."

oooOOOooo

It was to have been the night of his Claiming, three days past the full moon, when any transformation injuries were healed and the enlarged pack was settled.

He had almost felt giddy like the schoolboy he once had been. Angharad had talked him through the Claiming ritual for an Alpha and a second mate.

"You will be a brother for me, Alf. Together, we care for him who cares for the whole pack."

A sister like Angharad was like a dream compared with the nightmare sister that nature and nurture had given him. In a month, he had fallen in love with Angharad in a completely different way.

His pure-blood upbringing almost nagged in his brain to find presents for his mates, to don his best robe, and yet this was not the place of robes and finery: it was a place of patches and shreds; of family and pack; of love and home. In this month, he felt more loved and content than he had felt for many, many years. He had rediscovered his vocation in caring for the sickly and elderly werewolves, he had rediscovered his family, and was about to gain a new one. It was perfection.

Until the letter came. The letter with the Phoenix feather.

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**Next chapter: Alphard loss, and Alphard's gains.**

**Please read and review. **

**Thank you to strix noctis, Smurny, Aynslesa, rubyrosa for your kind reviews.**

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	5. Challenges

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong, Idris Lydiard and his pack (and the Whitby Werewolves) are all mine.**

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Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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**Chapter 5: Challenges**

As Alphard worked in his tent with Angharad, both labelling some linaments they'd brewed, the letter had arrived from Dumbledore with the magical Phoenix feather, just like that one a month ago that had brought him the good news of his nephew's innocence. Now it brought the news of his nephew's death.

Alphard's hands shook as he read the letter. He dropped it on his writing table and covered his face with his hands as terrible guilt and grief broke over him.

"What? What is it?" Angharad asked. Alphard gave her the letter and turned away from her, feeling pain welling inside him.

"Oh, Alf," she said quietly, and went to put her hand on his arm, but he reflexively moved away, his hand raised as if to fend her off as he tried to bend his mind around what he had just read. He couldn't. How could it all have changed again so quickly? A huge pulse of sadness pushed out his chest. It hurt. If he embraced Angharad, the hurt would possess him.

He needed to escape. Escape from the pain. He transformed into the dog and bounded from his tent. He heard Angharad call after him, and then Idris's call, the tone of their voices alarmed to see him run so fast.

He had to run as he threaded his way through the many tents, knocking people over, turning over small cauldrons on small fires as people shouted and raised their fists after him. He had to run or he would explode with hurt; with this pain that had swollen in his heart so suddenly. When he was the dog, he didn't feel pain so keenly. He had learnt this throughout his life.

He ran through the protective enchantments, his legs pumping along the soft ground, pushing his canine body as hard as it would go, the adrenaline washing over the grief, flooding his system anew with hormones designed for performance rather than emotion. The legs flexed and contracted, carrying him, his paws hitting the ground with a sureness his human feet could never manage as the smell of the air guided his direction, running to find where the air became cold, like crystal shards in his nose, down his throat and into his lungs, as he felt the shale under his paws as he pumped his way up steep slopes, running on and on.

He had gained the summit of a mountain. He didn't know the name of it, but he could feel its magic and, panting and whimpering, he sniffed around the mountain top stone, padded around it in a circle. He recalled chasing the black dog up the stairs at Grimmauld Place – his own pup. His boy, Sirius. Then the black dog chasing him down. He whimpered pitifully at the memory.

Cut down by his own cousin; by Alphard's own niece! Oh, his evil, foul family still serving Riddle! Ripping everything he loved from him! Dumbledore said Sirius died bravely in battle. Alphard would have craved a coward for a nephew but for Dumbledore said he had saved the life of his godson. How could Alphard howl at the gods for that? But he felt he could!

He stood on the stone, and howled and howled, almost the bay of the wolf, but deeper and more resonant as he felt his grief rip from his belly, through his chest and out into the hollow and lonely note of his animalistic howl.

He sat on the stone, his eyes darting to and fro and then curled up on it, with his muzzle on his paws, letting himself steep in the magic of the stone and felt himself fall away into an exhausted, fitful sleep after his long run.

The next he knew, he heard the crack of Apparition. The giant white dog looked up to see Idris who stood over him with the sun high behind him. Idris crouched on his haunches next to him.

"Will ye change back, Alf, and talk to me?" he said kindly.

The dog whimpered and replaced his snout on his forepaws. He couldn't. He just couldn't. Not yet.

"No?" Idris sat down, and straightened his legs out and leant against part of the stone, patting his lap. The dog placed his fore paws and head on Idris's lap and Idris scratched the dog's scruff and then stroked him. "I know." He stroked the thick white coat for a while as occasionally the dog whimpered.

"Down there," Idris indicated with his head, "is a farmhouse. You went there looking for me once." The dog lifted his head and looked down the mountainside. "That's right. My father's house. This is Cadr Idris. I was named for this mountain. Oh, the house's naught but a ruin now ... well, I think it is. After my father died, the house was bought by a wizard. It didn't pass to me. I was denounced and my father filed my death with the Ministry."

The dog whined loudly. "Yes, he did. My Da did that," Idris nodded, and then collected himself and stroked the giant dog again. "The outbuildings disappeared over the years – people stole the stone and slate for themselves. I think ... I think there's an enchantment on the farmhouse though. I feel it, but I don't know who lives there." He fell silent for a while, scratching the dog and looking fondly at it.

"My mam died in childbirth with me. I told you that?" A small whimper of acknowledgement. Idris smiled at the sadness in the dog's eyes. "My father was my family and I was all my father had. No brothers or sisters." A muscle in Idris's jaw twitched and his voice was sour. "He still put me out though and then drowned himself in drink. It still hurts. To this day." He looked down at the dog who looked up at him adoringly from his lap.

"I don't have the words, Alf, to tell you how scared I was. One day, I'll try to tell you what happened. But I will tell you that the Snowdon pack took me in. Eventually, I realised I had a new family. For a long time, I just felt bitterness and deep terror. I knew sorrow, aye. Then I had the pack. People to care for me. Then a mate. Then cubs. With family, came such joy, and," Idris sighed, "more sorrow as well. But then I had family to help me bear it." He took the giant dog's head between his two hands gently. "Will you let us help you bear your sorrow?"

The dog transformed into the man, and moved his head to lie on Idris's chest and wrapped his arms around his waist, afraid to let go. Idris stroked his long hair and Alphard listened to Idris's heartbeat.

They stayed in this embrace for a long time, Idris remembering his time of terror and the inconsolable loss of his father's violent rejection of him. Alphard was in the now: he held on to Idris in a way he had not clung to another human being since ... since that Christmas in Idris's lodgings on Fye Foot Lane, all those years ago. He would never let him go again. Never.

Alphard sat up and gently stroked Idris's face with his thumbs.

"Come," Idris said gruffly, and stood. "Let's walk down. It's worth the walk."

Alphard nodded, and walked alongside Idris as he confidently strode down the precarious path, pointing out landmarks to Alphard, seemingly understanding Alphard's reluctance to speak in case his voice betrayed his emotions. Alphard knew Idris understood. The occasional looks told Alphard so, as those dark eyes looked comfortingly at him. They reached the foot of the mountain and the lake stretched out before them and Idris stopped and took in the calm and beauty of the lake.

"Will ye swim with me, Alf? D'ye remember swimming in the Black Lake with me, teasing the Squid?" Idris said, his face breaking into an enormous grin.

Alphard laughed softly. Of course, he remembered. It was one of the maddest things Idris had ever done. Alphard had been terrified and called out to Idris to get back in from the lake over and over. He thought the Squid would kill him. But no! The Squid thought the youth was funny and played tag with him.

"_Get in, and stop being such a pair of girl's bloomers!" Idris had shouted. That was a challenge, that was! Alphard had immediately stripped to his long johns and jumped in after him. Let's see how he liked two playing tag with him!_

"I'll swim with you, girl's bloomers," Alphard said, his voice still hoarse, but his small smile genuine as he disrobed completely and waded out into the lake and began to swim.

"Ha!" Idris barked, the recollection sudden, and he stripped too and followed.

They swam out the long distance into the middle of the lake and around it, the water seeming to soothe Alf the longer he swam. He was a good swimmer, but he forgot that Idris swam like a fish. He floated on his back as he looked at the cerulean sky and the magnificent scenery around him of greys and purples of the moutain, and the greens of the forest. This was where his Idris would've swum as a child; where he learnt to swim like a fish. It warmed him to think of it as he lazily back-stroked, taking it all in. Idris swum up to him and took him into his arms and kissed him. Lightly at first, then deeply when Alphard responded, deeply and lovingly to the spontaneous gesture. They broke apart, gazing at each other and Idris began to swim a lazy front crawl to shore. Alphard followed in his wake.

Idris was first to the shore and laid himself out in the sun, careless of his nudity. Alphard followed and fell onto his knees next to him smoothing his long wet hair back from his face and he looked at Idris fully for only the second time in their lives. His was a different body now. Like his own, no longer young, and criss-crossed with white scars of breaks and tears. His chest was hairy. Alphard liked it. Then he saw the bite on Idris's shoulder. It made him whimper – still puckered and purple - cursed. He stretched out his hand to it, but then pulled back and looked at Idris for permission.

"Go on," Idris murmured deeply, he himself taking in Alphard's older form and skin, still as slim as he had always been, but his shoulders broad now. He reached for Alphard's waist as Alphard's soft fingers ghosted across the Turning bite. Idris shut his eyes.

"It doesn't hurt still, does it?" Alphard said, his eyes worried.

"Not a bit of it," Idris said softly, opening his eyes to look upon Alphard, feeling so much emotion rising to the surface from somewhere he had interred it decades ago. He pulled Alphard to him and kissed him once more, his strong arms wrapping around him.

"Will you lie with me, Alf? Here and now?"

"Angharad ...?" Alphard whispered.

"She knows my intention. Lie with me." Idris said, his voice becoming deeper and rougher, his hand pressing to Alphard's flesh, then moving to hold the back of Alphard's head.

Alphard straddled Idris's hips, bending his head in, kissing Idris greedily in assent, no heed to be given now to anyone other than themselves. Alphard abandoned his reserve and kissed Idris hard and they fell about each other's necks and shoulders, kissing and biting.

Alphard's body was innervated, every nerve ending now alight. He didn't know his body was still capable of such invigoration at his age. A low groan escaped from him as Idris tightened his arms around him and turned them both over so Alphard was now on his back underneath him. He gasped, and took in the lust in Idris's face, how his dark eyes were now black and his desire was writ deeply in his expression. Of course, it would be like this. Idris was a werewolf; how else would it be? Alphard himself had never been taken, he had only taken men before, but he realised now – this was right. This was exactly how it would have been even if Idris hadn't been taken away from him. He had always let Idris have control of him. Desired it to be that way. The realisation took his breath away.

"My love," Alphard said softly, as Idris stroked his hands across Alphard's body and pressed his hips into him.

It was then that Alphard felt Idris smooth one of his hands around Alphard's hip and under his cock, finding his opening and entering with his fingers first.

Alphard had been sure it would hurt, but after all these years, his body and mind were aflame with desire. He needed very little to prepare him and as soon as he felt Idris exploring him, he groaned deeply and his head stretched back as he groaned louder still.

_Idris. It was Idris._ The wonder of it intensified every feeling, and when the fingers found that bundle of nerves, he cried out, and then mouthed silent pleas for Idris to fulfil their Pledge.

He felt the tip of Idris's erection replace the fingers, and wanted to beg, but his voice was gone, his throat too obstructed. Idris pushed in, and as he did so, Alphard growled with a deep satisfaction as he was filled up and he arched to the feel of it and more – to the feel of his magic flaring brightly in a surge such as he hadn't felt since his wand had chosen him in Ollivander's all those years ago, but now greater and more brilliant.

Idris enveloped his mouth hungrily as he rolled into Alphard, his eyes almost watering with the tight, hot, rough sensation, so different from a woman. Alphard was almost too tight, but it was Alphard; his eyes watered for another reason than sheer physical bliss. He felt the Pledge shine in his magic intensifying the feeling, immersing his body in this thickest most undeniable desire that he had never expected to feel ever again. But here he was, with his own Alphard, and he thought his body might fracture his joy was so intense as he gasped, "Oh Alf, my Alf," over and over with each thrust, his hand wrapping around Alphard's own erection to stroke him in time. He called Alphard's name deeper and louder as he felt his own orgasm build.

No, he wanted to stop, to savour this moment that once he had dreamed of and then had thought would never happen. He slowed as he gazed at the face he loved below him, at first confused and then seeming to understand as they gently moved against each other, kissing, to try to prolong this first time between them.

They were no longer young men, fit to have robust sex from dawn to dusk. What they had, they wanted to keep and savour. Their breathing had calmed as they kissed and moved gently as Alphard held Idris's backside in his hands, kneading it as he said his name like a prayer. They kept their passion at bay as long as they could until Alphard could bear the pulsing heat in his groin no more.

"Please, Idris," he murmured, as he moved against him more powerfully, making Idris growl. "Please, I need you!" Alphard kissed him. "I have always needed you. Don't deny me any longer!"

Idris felt as if he was losing his mind to hear those words and feel the tightness engulfing him. He felt his resolve melt, and he let his body take the man under him in matching hard thrusts as Alphard cried out, grasping him and bucking against him.

Idris wanted to bite him, mark him, Claim him as his very own. Only his, from this day on. But it was his duty to wait. His hips snapped as his hand tightened as his own orgasm tore from him with a deep growl as he felt and heard Alphard come hard beneath him, watching his neck stretch out as his back arched once more, Idris's name still on his lips.

Idris gathered Alphard to him as he pulled them both onto their sides facing each other. Alphard buried his head into the crook of Idris's shoulder – _just as he always had done._

Idris's heart fluttered as he held Alphard in his arms – _his to protect and keep once more_.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Idris Apparated them back to the encampment, then led Alphard back to his tent. Idris left to find Alphard some food. He hadn't realised just how long he had been away before Idris had come to find him. Alphard saw that Angharad had finished the labelling. Alphard went to sit to read Dumbledore's letter again, but found he was too sore, so he got up again. He heard soft laughter and turned to find Angharad standing at the tent opening with a bowl, smiling at him. He flushed quite deeply.

"Here's some stew, Alf," she said brightly and placed the bowl and a spoon on the writing desk. Then she placed her hands on his shoulders and reached up on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek.

"A little about face, before the ritual, but ... I think you need to know how you are loved," she said.

"Are you ... I hope you're not cross with me ... with us," Alphard said, although he could see no trace of it.

"No, not at all. And perhaps your first time with him was better away from the pack, yes?"

Alphard smiled sheepishly and then forced himself to sit to eat his food as Angharad brought him a beaker of mead and pulled up a chair and sat with him, talking about the linaments as if the letter had not come and he had not run off to the mountain at all.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

It was a beautiful summer's night. The packs had all gathered around their own bluebell lights out in the warm air. Somewhere, Alphard heard the Whitby Werewolves strumming the one acoustic guitar they had, as they sang _Lycan You Love Me?_ to their confused audience.

Idris snorted with laughter as he heard some of the lyrics drifting on the warm air towards them as the pack began to pack away for the night.

_Lycan you love me?  
__Lycan we share  
__The greatest loving,  
__Knowing I am a were?_

"It's not Donne or Keats, is it?" Alphard chuckled. "Although perhaps it does, albeit clumsily, try to convey a truth." He glanced at Idris, whose dark eyes seemed to bore into him, heating his insides beautifully, as Angharad laughed as she went over to him, placing a gentle hand on his forearm.

"I know you have doubts about sleeping with us in the roundhouse, but ... well, it isn't right for you to be alone tonight, Alf," Angharad said softly. "Come sleep with us. Think about it."

"Will I be marked?" Alphard asked her, feeling the stirrings of trepidation to be so marked in front of the pack.

"Aye, just marked," she reassured him quietly. "Before the pack. But the next time you lie with Idris, his Claim will be completed."

Alphard searched her soft brown eyes. He still felt raw inside from the news about Sirius, but he also felt stronger since he had lain with Idris. He wanted this family.

"I will come."

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

He followed Idris and Angharad into the roundhouse. It needed no announcement. His presence in the roundhouse at night alone was something that hadn't been seen before and within a couple of minutes the pack knew what was to happen and he heard whisperings and mutterings all around as Idris gave the order to douse the lights.

Idris and Angharad knelt on the bedding and Alphard laid down his own next to theirs and removed his shirt, as they had told him. He knelt in between Idris and Angharad, facing her, so she would accept him to their bed.

Angharad held his hands in hers, and he looked into her kind brown eyes, as Idris smoothed Alphard's hair away from his shoulders and neck as he pulled Alphard close to his body. Alphard could feel Idris's chest and stomach pressing against his back. It ignited him, and yet he held the hands of this woman. His mind began to reel with it, until he heard a deep, deep rumble; a hum in the back of Idris's throat that seems to resonate through his body, thrilling him, but calming his mind. He felt Idris's hot breath on his neck and then his nose ghosting along this neck and shoulder. He gasped at the feel, and yet could not take his eyes from the woman who held his hands. She was smiling at him. A small, encouraging smile. Lips on his neck now. Teeth.

They only nipped him, but his body was innervated once more and the memory of their first coupling that afternoon replayed in every detail in his mind as he felt himself unfocus. Idris tightened his arms around him, splaying his fingers wide to press Alphard's skin on his chest and stomach as Idris found the trapezius muscle between Alphard's neck and shoulder, and then drew it in between his teeth and bit down slowly. The pain stung, then sharpened and Alphard gargled a noise of pain, yet Angharad stroked his hands with her thumbs. Idris bit more deeply still and pain started to spread out in tendrils through Alphard's body, as it started to tremble between pain and pleasure. Idris nearly bit through the muscle, and Alphard's eyes had started to well with tears, then he felt Idris draw blood into his mouth and probe the wound deeply with his tongue.

Alphard remembered reading of this. Idris was delivering his own magical saliva into the wound: healing it and suffusing it with his lupine Claim. The tendrils of pain dissipated and were replaced by tendrils of pleasure that brightened as Alphard's head lolled to the side and Idris nursed the bite in a way that reassured him and calmed him. Alphard's head rolled forward, his body now at peace within Idris's arms.

Angharad leant forward, clutching his hands to her chest and then stroked his hair away from his face.

"My brother," she said and kissed each cheek and he kissed her forehead, as Idris slowly released him from his arms and Angharad helped him to lie down. Unaware of how the pack may have reacted to his marking, he felt himself drift into a placid stupor, undoubtedly induced by the bite as potent as any narcotic, his mind wandered, hardly focusing on the noises around him although aware of the sexually charged atmosphere around him and that even next to him, Idris was in the midst of taking Angharad. He was aware, but only peripherally.

Suddenly, unbidden, he thought of his two small boys with the toy broomsticks that he had brought them for Christmas. His heart clenched. He recalled his foul sister shrieking at him from the drawing room, and his ignoring her as he encouraged the boys to race their little brooms up the stairs as he walked protectively behind their little brooms just a foot off the stair treads, his wand at the ready for the scrapes and bumps that would surely follow.

He recalled being summoned from Spain for a family conference when Sirius had been Sorted into Gryffindor, as if the assembled Blacks could somehow force a supernatural change on the school's Sorting procedures. Clearly, the nine Howlers Walburga had sent to Dumbledore had not done the trick.

He remembered teaching Sirius the Animagus incantations in the library and how he worked so hard to try to master them. He was only 12 when he first asked Alphard to teach him, professing a great and glorious Gryffindor cause and _demanded_ he learn. It was far too young, but he worked so hard at all the different stages. He remembered Sirius's first partial transformation when he was 14 and his feet had changed to paws, and he scrambled around on them as if on ice skates for the first time.

Then his first full transformation into the huge black hound, and how he was so shocked he transformed back again in fright at the feel of four legs and a tail. "A tail! I forgot I'd have a tail!" Sirius had squawked in amalgam of humour and horror at feeling a whole new appendage. Alphard had laughed so hard at Sirius's face.

Then, such a precious memory, Sirius telling Alphard that Regulus had turned away from Riddle. He didn't know all the details, but he told him what he knew from a spy for the Order. Ah, so bittersweet. Little Reg finally had learnt the error of Walburga's ways, but paid the dearest of prices. Not only was his own heart lifted, but he saw Sirius's was too.

As he lay, staring at the ceiling of the roundhouse, a few silent tears seeping down the sides of his face into his hair, he noticed very little until a soft, rounded arm slid under his shoulders and gave a gentle tug so he turned and curled completely into the warmth of Angharad's soft, warm body as Angharad's other arm completed the embrace. As she soothed him, he felt Idris's hand stroke his hair from around her shoulder.

"Dear Alf," Idris whispered in his subterranean rumble. "We are your family now. You are pack."

Alphard nodded, enveloped in warmth, and fell asleep in Idris and Angharad's loving embrace.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

The new day dawned brightly for Alphard. He awoke refreshed with his mates either side of him, their arms protectively across him. He thought it would be awkward, but he felt cherished in a way he didn't think he had before. He tidied his bedding, but didn't remove it. Idris smiled broadly at him.

His heart still hurt for Sirius, but he felt fortified to deal with it now.

After they had breakfasted, Alphard slung his Healer's bag over his should and set out to see one of the visiting werewolves who had had a Blister Hex cast on him during the night. As he approached the perimeter to enter the tented area of the visiting werewolves, he felt a sharp object strike him across the face as somebody called out:

"Fuck off, you nancy boy. We don't want your type here! You're no type of man!" followed by assorted growls of agreement and jeers.

He turned speedily, with his wand at the ready, to find three werewolves leering at him.

"_Accio_ stone." The stone flew to Alphard's other hand. He slowly scanned the werewolves in front of him, knowing in his heart his marking had caused this small demonstration. He recognised the werewolves. Jake. Uriah. Jude. He had treated each of their small post-transformation injuries not three days ago. Well, well, he thought with disgust, feeling his anger rising. He was going to put paid to this right now.

He held out the stone and silently cast a revealing charm on it and pointed it at each of the men in front of him. The sharpened flint glowed brightly when it faced Jake.

"Yes, Jake, I am a man. Do not forget also that I am a wizard!" he hissed through gritted teeth at the werewolf, whose leer slid from his face.

Alphard stood back and slashed his wand. The sound of a whip cracked the air and dirt flew up at Jake's feet. He stumbled back, his face comical in shock. Alphard took one step further forward and cracked his wand again and again. As the werewolf stumbled back further, he fell down, his arm held crooked defensively in front of him. His friends moved back with him, suddenly unsure of themselves with this confident wizard.

"You can call me names, if it makes you feel like better men. It will not _make_ you better men, but you can kid yourselves if you like." Alphard said, his voice deadly. He slashed his wand, and the whip cracked at the Uriah and Jude too, who backed further away quickly.

"You! You, big man on your arse! Duel me. If you are such a man, and I am not, let's see in the proper way of men! Duel me now!" Alphard said, his grey eyes like a storm, his temper provoked. The temper he shared with all members of the family of Black.

The man on the ground stuttered. "You are our leader's mate. He will kill us."

"Me first, I think," Alphard hissed.

"But you don't understand …" the man gibbered.

"No, I understand well enough. You thought you could throw stones at me and because you think I'm – what was it? – a nancy boy, you think I won't defend myself? What kind of man does that make you? Would you throw stones at Angharad? At a child?"

"No!" the downed man shouted, looking horrified. "But it's not right. What you do with him. He was fine before you came. He was a _proper_ man until you came. A proper leader."

This time, Alphard snarled as the Whipping Hex connected with Jake's hand, and his aggressor whimpered as he held his lacerated hand, oblivious to the growing crowd amassing around them.

"Come on, if you are such a _proper_ man! I have not hurt your wand hand. I demand you duel me!"

The man stood and held out his wand shakily. "No werewolf duels an Alpha's mate," he cried, almost pleading. "And no mate duels! It's not how we do things. Idris will kill me."

"I don't intend to leave anything for Idris to kill. You forget, I am a wizard. I will not be told I may not duel when you strike at me, when you strike at my mate! Whether you like it or not, boy, I am a man!" His wand snapped into a twist, and Disarmed the man on the instant, so his wand flew to Alphard's hand as a second flick cut Jake's face to the exact dimensions of Alphard's injury from the flint.

Jake stood whimpering as Alphard glared at him, but aware of his cronies, in case they tried to jump him. Yes, he had the temper of the Blacks, but he'd learnt to control it tightly.

"Bested by a nancy boy?" Alphard asked softly as he became aware of the werewolves that had gathered now and stood down from his stance. The crowd began to murmur until he heard them suddenly silence and he saw them part for Idris.

Idris stood between the two, looking from one to the other, looking at their identical injuries, and the wands in Alphard's hands. Alphard threw Jake's wand back to him, and looked at the sharpened flint. Idris held out his hand for it and Alphard passed it over. Idris turned it over in his hand and spied the blood on it.

"Explain."

Alphard looked at Jake who said nothing, but looked at his feet, as his face became an ugly shade of puce.

Alphard turned to Idris. "There is nothing to explain. I serve you, and love you, and there are those who hate this. You are my liege lord, life and limb, but I am not a woman, and I am not less than a woman. I am a man and will duel any who say otherwise."

The crowd murmured in shock. The words were sedition. An Alpha duelled for his mate; that was lore.

Alphard saw Idris's dark eyes glitter and the quirk of the mouth. But then he saw the mouth set as he turned to Jake.

"You know this wizard is my mate, Jake. Why have you done this?"

"It is not right," Jake whispered nastily. "A man should not serve another man, like a wench. You should not allow it, let alone … fuck it yourself."

Audible gasps went up and a murmur spread like a wave that rushed around the assembled werewolves.

Idris's eyes deadened and became as black as coal.

"STAND UP!" he bellowed.

The challenge was issued. Jake must fight for the dishonour caused or leave the pack.

"And anyone else who thinks it … stand up and get in line! We finish this now - one way or another!" Idris declared. He took off his shabby robe and handed his wand to Alphard, who was going to remonstrate but saw the interdiction in his mate's eyes. This was werewolf lore – it was a challenge to the Alpha - and he must not interfere.

Idris rolled up his sleeves, baring his muscular forearms, ready to fight – all comers. He rolled his neck, rolled his large shoulders, stretched out his arms, flexing his muscles, spreading out his fingers then clenching into fists. If his warm up was intended to scare Jake, who was as unimposing as Idris was clearly Alpha, it worked and he yelped and ran, his friends close behind him.

"Anyone else?" Idris growled. No-one answered, no-one even muttered. "Get along then!" Idris dismissed them, and the crowd dispersed.

"Come," he said softly to Alphard and led him through the tents, back to his own.

Once inside, he took his robe and wand from Alphard's grasp and then took Alphard in his arms roughly, and kissed him.

"It is my place to protect you. It is what the Alpha does," Idris said. "Will you not allow me to, stubborn wizard?"

"All my life I have protected myself. Finally, I am your mate, and I am more happy than I can ever say. But even though you take me, I am still a man. I can defend myself. Don't unman me, Idris."

"You are a man to me, Alf. But my instincts to keep you safe speak to the creature in me. I can't control it," Idris said, roughly.

"I understand," Alphard said quietly, as Idris brought Alphard closer to him, pressing him close, holding him there, possessively. His very own after all these years.

They would have many such challenges to come to in the coming months. Alphard understood. He was prepared to accept it all – for this.

* * *

**Next chapter: The first full moon with the pack.**

**Please read and review. **

**Thank you to Aynslesa, Smurny, strix noctis and rubyrosa.**


	6. First Moon

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

* * *

**Chapter 6: First Moon**

Alphard knew there were still whisperers in the pack, those who minded what he was to Idris, especially because he was a wizard. Let them jabber. Names did not upset him. They were cowards who would not confront him and they certainly ran scared of their Alpha. He could help but feel absurdly proud that he was now mated to Idris. He felt at his age it was probably a juvenile reaction, but he revelled in it just the same.

Now Alphard was busy with a self-imposed schedule of Healing and teaching, Botolph collected Alphard's post and _Daily Prophet _from the pub every day. Sneed reported regularly on the progress of Sirius's posthumous pardon. Alphard still felt the wound of Sirius's death deeply and with it, his own guilt had sharpened, but he threw himself into the work he found to do in the pack, and the comfort he drew from Idris and Angharad.

He read Sneed's letters with mixed feelings: satisfaction that the gross smear would be removed from Sirius's name and simmering resentment that it took his nephew's death for the Wizarding world to see the injustice of incarceration without trial, and his own guilt for not seeking his nephew out sooner. Now Riddle was revealed, the Minister for Magic had no call to blame his nephew for every nefarious crime committed. The blame now fell correctly.

The extended pack on the whole did not care for the Wizarding world's news, but Idris would always discuss the latest developments as he himself looked for articles on how Riddle was using werewolves against the Wizarding population. They were remote here. Well protected. But Idris felt a vague flutter of worry. How long would they remain safe?

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Stacy sat between Alphard and Angharad, practising _Wingardium Leviosa_. Angharad held Stacy's enormous wrist to shape the swish and flick required as Alphard encouraged him to concentrate. They had spent days alone concentrating on how he enunciated the charm. It had been frustrating for Stacy. At times, he would almost howl in his inarticulate frustration, but Angharad would soothe him, and Alphard would sit back, unthreatening and non-judgemental. Stacy would regain his courage and try over and over again.

Stacy had plenty of magic and would often release powerful, destructive bursts, but channelling it was proving quite an undertaking. Alphard and Angharad had managed to refine his _Lumos_ so that it was no longer _maxima_ every time, and he could now cast _Nox_. His casting of _Accio_ had become more precise and less violent so items no longer came crashing into him at great speed.

Botolph and Spindle had taken to watching and encouraging him. Idris didn't stop by often as he seemed to frighten Stacy, but he noted the men's involvement with their friend, encouraged that they seemed to be involving themselves more in the pack. It had been apparent to him at the outset that there was no Alpha so he had resigned himself to the unwitting recruitment of the Whitby Werewolves. With Stacy's constant presence by Angharad's side, Botolph often followed. Soon, Spindle joined too, and within weeks the others seem to trail in a bedraggled and aimless group. Idris had begun to assign them tasks and each seemed to take to them, and work with a will. Then, at the last full moon, Conway had asked if they could run with the pack. He supposed troubadours had their uses, but a small part of him wondered why they hadn't wanted to join the satellite packs.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

It had been a fortnight since Idris and Alphard had first lain together. Alphard slept next to Idris and Angharad at night in the roundhouse, but separate in his bedding. It suited him, and he cared not at all that Idris took Angharad at night. He found he was pleased to be part of this family; it soothed him and warmed him. After all, he had his own time with Idris; Idris made sure of it: time to talk and to love.

Idris had contrived that they would be private in the tent, even if it was just for an hour or so, for he understood something now in a way he had not before. Sometimes, Idris and Alphard would make love. Sometimes they would just talk and catch up on all the years they were apart. Idris had decided from that first time by the lake that was so different from how he was with his mate in the pack – he wanted his time Alphard to be private. As Angharad had said, Alphard was a wizard. He was neither feral nor primal, although he was passionate. There had been more tenderness in Idris's taking of this grown man than even his own first time with his first mate had been all those years ago.

/

_Idris had been industrious in the pack. He didn't need to learn his place; his understanding of it was instinctive. He was educated, clever, quick and strong. Others seemed to follow his lead when Idris was tasked with doing so. The Alpha quickly understood that Idris had potential to be more than just the pack's wandmaker. He had a gentleness that belied his large stature and seemed naturally to take the weaker ones under his wing._

_He also had a sadness that Dai never could fathom. Dai knew the boy's story, of course. But even now, five years on, the boy ... no, the young man ... remained sad and quiet. Most of the young women made very clear they wanted to be his mate. They would vie for his attention and then gradually lose interest when their attentions were kindly rebuffed. Idris's friends teased him as one by one each took a mate and began to produce cubs of their own._

_Dai wondered. He had heard of such men as he suspected Idris to be but, if that was so, there was no mate for Idris here. Idris was a man now. Ever stronger within the pack, his fighting skills becoming legendary and duelling skills second to none. There was a lot of passion in Idris, Dai could see. Too much for a twenty year-old man without a mate. He called Idris to him and told him as his Alpha, Dai would choose his mate._

/

"Did you argue?" Alphard asked, his head lying on Idris's stomach as Idris stroked Alphard's hair.

"Of course not. Dai had made the decision and he was Alpha," said Idris, as a matter of fact.

Alphard got up and leant on his elbow, watching Idris's face.

"You would do whatever he said? Even take a wife?"

"Aye," Idris nodded. "He took me in. Protected me from Vargulf. Of course."

/

_Megan was a born werewolf in the Snowdon pack. She was dark and fine looking. Many of the young men courted her. She had long ago set her cap for Idris. Such a fine, good-looking boy when he joined. Now, such a man. Strong. Healthy. Certainly good breeding material. Quiet though, which Megan found odd. All the born werewolves were boisterous, but not Idris. Often he was to be found whittling wood, making wands. He would always speak when spoken to, and he was funny once he unwound. But Megan could see he was sad. She knew the story: how he had been Turned and beaten by Vargulf, the Darkest and most violent of werewolves; how he had escaped to his da, but was driven away. It was a sad story, for sure. But it was years ago. She still had hopes._

_The Alpha approached her. He wanted her to be Idris's mate. Well, Megan had never heard of the Alpha choosing before – refusing, yes; choosing, no. She found she wasn't surprised. Idris was looking more and more like Alpha material as he got older. He rarely challenged others to fights, but he was often challenged because of his size and skill. He beat all comers and then, with good grace, helped them off the ground where he had dumped them. If Dai was thinking of a successor, then Idris must have a mate. No Alpha was without a mate._

/

"He chose his successor? I didn't think things worked that way?" Alphard said.

"All leaders manipulate what they can. There would come a time when he would be challenged, or he would be defeated in a battle with another pack. He was trying to put me in a position to take over if that arose."

/

_When Dai told him he must take the mate that had been chosen, Idris had been terrified. He could not deny he was pleased to act as look-out for the pack at night, as all young, single werewolves did. The sexual atmosphere of the roundhouse once the lights were doused was fraught for him. Idris couldn't deny the scents drove his libido wild with desire, yet there was no-one he wanted. Sometimes, he would relieve himself but he always thought of Alphard, even though he tried to force himself to think of women. There were so many pretty women in the pack. He tried to picture them, kissing them, stroking them as he had Alphard. He felt nothing but unease at best; at worst disgust._

_He didn't know what to do. He could confess to Dai that he did not – could not – find women attractive. What then? Would he be cast out? This was his family. No. He had no option. He agreed. _

_When the time came, Megan moved her bedding next to Idris. He had been nervous; she had not. She had undressed him, cherished him with her fingers as she did so. His fingers trembled as he had undressed her. He was scared. Not in the way he had been of Vargulf, but because it was an intimacy he did not want; an intimacy he had pledged to another. This – this would be the end of that dream to which he only then realised he had clung so desperately._

_His life was what it was. He pushed down his heartbreak. He squashed that part of him that was repulsed. It wasn't Megan's fault. He had known her for five years. She had become a fine woman. He had to play his part. This was pack._

_As gently as he could, he stroked her skin on her neck and shoulders, pushing away her long black hair – the wrong long black hair. He closed his eyes and pushed away his dream and marked her as he had seen countless others mark their mates._

_But as soon as he had sunk his teeth into that muscle, the animal desire of the wolf overcame him – unbidden and hugely powerful. Under any other circumstances, such strong feelings would have scared him, but he was utterly overwhelmed by the lust of a werewolf. Perhaps being born in a pack made the young sexually aware and knowing, but Megan had wanted no tentative love-making. He and Megan, virgins both, had had sex as feral as any of the older werewolves that night. They had simply joined the werewolf rut. _

/

Alphard stared at Idris, shocked.

"You didn't hurt her? I thought it always hurt girls the first time. That they bled."

Idris shook his head.

"Looking back on it, I don't know, Alf. Megan showed no pain. She became the same as me on the bite." He shrugged, suddenly feeling quite sheepish under Alphard's amazed stare. He laughed softly. "I can't describe how my life was suddenly different. Once you Claim a mate as a werewolf, it's like they become part of you – physically and emotionally." He reached forward and squeezed Alphard's thigh signifying that this is what Alphard had become – again. Alphard held the hand and encouraged Idris to continue.

"Megan became my world. It is what werewolves are. Within the year, she became pregnant. And that," Idris shook his head slowly, "that was something beyond anything else."

He looked at Alphard, worriedly. Alphard smiled at Idris's concern.

"You hardly need to worry about that," said Alphard. "Clearly, I was never going to have children of my own. I even had lovers who offered to go through conception rituals, but – I never wanted it. I've never regretted it."

Idris shook his head to hear Alphard talk so. His children had brought him more joy than he had ever thought he could have. But then, he recalled what Alphard's family were. Perhaps it was not so strange for Alphard never to have sought children of his own. They had no more time for today for Idris to think on it. Both had work to do.

As Idris dressed, Alphard passed him his clothes, just as he had removed them, one by one. He picked up Idris's dragon-hide pouch and replaced it around his neck. He remembered it from when they were young. He knew these pouches were rare and for the keeping of special items. Only the owner could retrieve the items. He had never asked what it contained, even then.

Idris saw him looking and, as he recalled what he kept there, a thought struck him.

"Do you want to see what's in here?"

"If you want to show me," Alphard said lightly. Idris sat on the bed and pulled Alphard down to sit next to him.

From the pouch he drew a pendant and passed it to Alphard who laid it on his palm, his face questioning.

"Bronwen," Idris said. Alphard didn't know who Bronwen was, but he saw sadness in Idris's face and didn't ask. He would find out in time. "It carries an invisibility enchantment for the wearer."

Next was a wand. Alphard remembered it. Idris used to wear it as his secondary wand when it wasn't fashionable to do so. It had been his mother's.

"I remember …" Alphard said as he laid the wand down carefully wondering why Idris no longer carried it.

Next was a signet ring: Welsh gold inset with a seal of Jet.

"It belonged to my taid," Idris said quietly. "My grandfather," he translated with a smile at Alphard's bewildered expression. Idris turned it over. It was far too small for Idris's large fingers. "I would have received his watch when I turned seventeen." He turned to face Alphard, knowing what he wanted to do, to recognise Alphard as a wizard. This would be it.

"Will you wear this ring as my mate, Alf?" he asked, holding his hand out for Alphard's.

"I'd be honoured," Alphard said. He had shut away his own Black seal ring in his vault when he'd renounced his family. He could think of nothing more fitting than this, as he took the ring and placed it over his finger and Idris smoothed it down and then caught Alphard's lips in a kiss. It wasn't a society bonding. Indeed, Alphard had never thought he would have such a thing. And yet, he felt he could never ask for more than just this - to wear Idris's family seal - a wizarding way to plight his troth. His other hand caressed the hand that wore the ring for a few seconds, getting used to the feel of it on his finger. Idris smiled, his dark eyes dancing to see Alphard so touched.

Finally, Idris withdrew a folded, tattered piece of parchment. He hesitated in passing it to Alphard whose eyes widened as he realised what the parchment was. But it couldn't be? After all these years? His hand slightly trembling, his took the parchment between two fingers and gently opened it.

It was. It was Alphard's letter that he sent by Deacon all those years ago when Idris went missing.

"You got it!" Alphard whispered, his voice harsh.

"Yes. I had nothing to answer with, and then Vargulf tried to trap your bird. It got away," Idris replied softly, not telling Alphard how he'd wrestled the bird away from Vargulf and freed it, and had been beaten for it.

"But you kept it," Alphard marvelled at the tatty parchment, so creased and worn, bearing the ghost of his own handwriting with its desperate pleas. So clearly read over and over. He closed his eyes. To think of it hurt his heart. He squeezed Idris's hand and tried not to think of the frightened fifteen year-old Idris re-reading this parchment like a talisman. He needed to put that away from himself and think instead of the man before him. He pulled Idris to him to kiss him once more.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

It was nearly full moon. Nearly a month since he had been Claimed by Idris. It astonished him that he could feel so complete in these humble surroundings where everyone made do.

He, Alphard Black, remained a very wealthy man. He sat at his writing desk with his various calculations. He needed to be careful. He wanted to try to use his wealth to bring comfort to the pack without insulting them. This pack, especially with Idris at its helm, was proud of its self-reliance. None of its werewolves stole or cheated. Idris did not allow it. They made their way as the healthy young obtained work from Muggles as labourers and some as artisans where they had skills. They didn't care how far afield they went as they could Apparate. Whatever they earned, they gave over to Angharad who kept the Muggle money for supplies. Others worked within the pack, or tended the herbs and vegetables, foraged for ingredients from the forest or the mountains, hunted for meat. Everyone had work to do, even the werewolves from the satellite packs.

None of them had access to Wizarding money and, to a point, it didn't matter. Where the pack was truly poor was in medical care. Angharad and some of the women cared for the sick and elderly. Angharad was skilled in her own way, although untrained, but she had the understanding of the werewolf condition that Alphard did not. She and Alphard now worked together. She also had a number of potions and balms that were quite ingenious. She told him that Seth Moore, the wizard mate of Remus Lupin, had invented them around werewolf sensitivities and their own natural resources. They were excellent, but not enough. Now, he needed to work out how he could fully stock this tent with its extension charm into a proper medical facility with all the medications and stock he needed to provide his new family with excellent care.

Idris had said to him that he hoped Alphard could be the Healer and the teacher for the pack, bringing his proper education to them, and also to be their guardian when they were wolves now times were becoming more troubled. So Idris was Alpha and Angharad, the pack mother, and Alphard, the wizard guardian. Idris had liked the symmetry of it.

Once Alphard had completed some owl orders for supplies and a letter to Sneed with further instructions, he found himself composing a letter to Albus Dumbledore. He felt almost driven to know how and why his old Transfiguration master had suddenly interested himself in the affairs of Alphard Black, recluse in Spain. Three times, Dumbledore had written to him, each time changing his life. Alphard asked why he had not told him of Idris's whereabouts or indeed of Sirius's innocence before this time. He did his best to keep his tone light and enquiring, and not to accuse, but he needed to understand.

He received a reply, with a phoenix feather, just two days later. He sat to read with Idris and Angharad at his shoulders.

_Dear Alphard,_

_I can understand how it must be confusing for you but nothing was concealed from you. I found out about Idris from Remus Lupin, who has been working on my behalf with the werewolf packs, as you now know. As for telling you, dear boy, I had understood that you were dead as did the rest of Wizarding Britain._

_I recently took a leave of absence – rather forced upon me, I am afraid to say - from my duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts. I had some research to do regarding a former student of this school. I suspect you know the one. During my extensive researches, I came across the paperwork of your renunciation ritual filed with the Ministry. I realised then that you might not be dead at all._

_As I recalled what I knew of your history, I suspected that, perhaps, you would like to see one another again. I hope I did not mistake what I remembered of your attachment. My phoenix can find anyone who lives so I hoped my letters would reach both of you._

_Regarding Sirius, I confess that, given your renunciation of your family, it did not cross my mind to tell you of your nephew's innocence in my initial letter to you. I hope you will forgive an old man for not understanding the reasons behind your renunciation to divine that Sirius's innocence would be one of your deepest desires. Had I known all these things, perhaps Sirius could have been better protected than I managed. He could have had safe refuge with you._

_However, I will say to you, as much as I am able, that I believe other family members of interest to you still thrive. More I cannot say although I can make the appropriate overtures, should you wish it._

_I hope I have acquitted myself enough to ask a favour of you now. I would deem it an honour if you and Idris would agree to meet with me after the full moon. I recall The Boar's Head serves fine ale. We could meet there if it suits. _

_Letters addressed to the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will find me._

_Albus Dumbledore_

They stared at the missive. Alphard felt the heat and sickness of self-recrimination. Of course, Dumbledore couldn't have known Alphard was either alive or interested in Sirius's fate. He was the author of his own misfortune. Idris sensed Alphard's distress and circled a calloused thumb on the bite at the crook of his neck. Alphard felt his muscles relax at Idris's touch and his uneasiness calm.

"What does he mean by family that may interest you?" Angharad asked. Alphard shook his head, certain he had no interest in the Dark members of his family, but suddenly he grasped the meaning as if by revelation.

"Andy!" he gasped and turned to Angharad, excited now. "My niece, Andromeda. She married a Muggle-born," he hastily explained. "You have no idea of the furore it caused. She was disowned and disinherited. I gave her a dowry, but I've heard nothing from them for years. I believe they had a daughter. Yes. Yes, that's right." More and more details came flooding back to him, and with them, understanding.

"Without a doubt, she and her husband would have been hunted down by the more insanely blood-purist in my family. They must have hidden under the _Fidelius_! I didn't even think of her to ask Sirius how she was, and he never told me. That's how it works. Just like when I visited Sirius – I didn't even remember my old family home until I was taken into the charm."

With a smile, he picked up his quill. "I think I need an 'appropriate overture', don't you?" Angharad squeezed his arm and smiled broadly, encouraging him as Alphard began to respond. "Do you want to meet him?" he asked Idris as he wrote. When he got no response, he turned to see Idris holding the phoenix feather between his fingers with a look of deep concentration.

"What will you do with these?" Idris asked, his eyes seeming to pierce the feathers.

"I had thought maybe for quills," Alphard said lightly, tipping a wink to Angharad.

Idris drew in a breath sharply over his teeth. Such a desecration of a rare thing. "I would dearly like to use them in wand-making," he said looking up sharply, then he saw Alphard smile.

"It's what I was keeping them for," Alphard said and carefully passed over the other feathers into Idris's hands that received them reverentially.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Today was the full moon. The past two full moons, Alphard had spent with Sirius, away from the pack. Now everything had changed and this time, he would stay. Alphard was nervous and not a little apprehensive.

The change to the mood in the encampment was stark. It was as if all of the werewolves had been drained of their energy. They were all pale and listless but trying to do the best they could. It was the frail and elderly werewolves that worried Alphard. He spoke to Angharad and Idris about maybe staying with them through their transformations to perform healing charms as they injured themselves quite badly. Their injuries didn't seem to heal so well as the others. Of course, they both refused. Even an elderly werewolf could administer a bite that could infect him, and any of them were still dangerous enough to kill him, just as any elderly predator could. Alphard must change into his Animagus form and remain in that form throughout the moon - Idris extracted his word on it.

So Alphard had spent the day giving muscle relaxants and fever-relieving elixirs to those who concerned him the most and making preparations for the ministrations that would be required for the next day, ensuring he had enough pain relieving, healing and replenishing potions and salves.

It was now late afternoon. The atmosphere of the encampment seemed to change yet again. It had become tense and, rather than cooling, the air seemed to heat. As Alphard finished racking the phials of potions for easy dosage, he felt the hairs on his arms and neck raise as the air in the tent wafted around him and then he felt Idris behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around him, his large hands pressing Alphard close to him. Alphard gasped and closed his eyes as he was almost overwhelmed by the musk Idris exuded, the heat of his body and the strength of his embrace.

"Take off your clothes," Idris commanded quietly into Alphard's ear, as his hands drew back and held Alphard's shoulders. Alphard undid the clasps on his robe, and toed off his boots, finding his body was starting to tremble in anticipation and sudden desire. Idris pulled off the robe and held Alphard to him once more as he bit and sucked at his neck and back. It was almost mesmeric. Alphard felt his will leak from him as his groin burned hot and bright and he groaned loudly at the feel of Idris's teeth and mouth on his skin and the press of Idris's body against Alphard's back and his hard cock against the cleft of his backside.

Alphard didn't think he had ever felt such consuming desire as this, almost a desperation for Idris to take him. Idris himself burned as he had never felt before. It wasn't like the physical imperative of the night-time rut when he took Angharad, or the deep desire when he would make love to Alphard. This was different.

This was the intense animalistic lust of the wolf, brought forward for his human mate. He could barely control himself, he wanted Alphard so badly it pained him.

It was so unlike the tenderness when Idris had taken him before, and yet Alphard felt his body ready itself, their chemistry preparing them. He braced himself against his desk as Idris's fingers quested inside him roughly. A deep, low moan escaped his throat and he pushed back. Idris took his fingers away, and then thrust into Alphard fully, growling his name. Alphard moaned loudly. It should have hurt, but it burned deliciously throughout the whole of his body.

Just as Alphard thought he could feel no more intensity, Idris found his Claiming bite and bit into it once more. Alphard cried out as he now understood what Idris said about sex on the bite. As soon as Idris bite into him, Alphard lost all control, his mind unravelling into the sensations of Idris thrusting into him, striking his sweet spot with devastating accuracy, his legs and arms weakening as he felt delirious as his orgasm built, stronger than ever before.

Idris grabbed Alphard hard, one arm wrapping around his waist as the other hand splayed over Alphard's chest, feeling his mate weakening as his own thrusts strengthened at the sheer and brilliant sensations of Alphard's muscles clutching at his cock. He grunted now with each thrust, pumping harder as each of Alphard's cries of pleasure thrilled his groin. His hard and fast pace began to become erratic as his desire scaled sharply and as he felt himself tip over, and he bit into Alphard once more and heard Alphard's orgasmic cry as Idris himself growled with the brightest orgasm he had ever felt as he emptied forcefully into Alphard's trembling body.

As they calmed, Idris supported Alphard over to his bed and laid him gently down, and then lay down next to him, letting Alphard nestle in the crook of his shoulder, gently soothing his trembling body. Alphard himself had never felt so drained, and yet so contented and relaxed. He drifted away to sleep.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

"Come," he heard Angharad say as he felt her soft hand on his shoulder. "It's time."

Idris gently moved Alphard to a sitting position so he could sit too. Alphard was momentarily confused when he realised Angharad was unclothed. But of course she was, he chided himself; she would be transforming soon. Idris stood and helped Alphard to his feet. He was still quite sore but physically very satisfied. He wanted to spend more time just resting with Idris, but it was not to be. The moon could not be denied.

"You promised to me, Alf. Change now, before our change comes. Do not, under any circumstances, change into a man before the wolves. We will not know you. You will be killed." Alphard nodded, and Idris kissed him roughly.

Angharad clasped his hands in hers. "Stand your ground with the others. You are submissive to no-one but our mate." She kissed his cheek tenderly. Alphard nodded and changed into the large white dog. Both Angharad and Idris hugged the dog by his neck and then left the tent with the dog walking between them until they reached the clearing.

It was thronged with werewolves waiting to change. They didn't mill about aimlessly. Each and every one knelt or sat, eyes closed, breathing deeply, waiting for the moon. The atmosphere of anticipation and expectation made Alphard's coat bristle. He sat and waited with the rest, his hackles rising as he began to pant as fear dried out his throat and nestled in his gut.

From nowhere, he felt a tug in his gut that made him yelp in surprise. It coincided with the first whimpers of the various werewolves around him, including his own mate. The various whimpers of children, women and men began to change to moans of pain rising to screams and he heard the sounds of soft tissues tearing and bones breaking. He watched his beloved Idris begin to yowl like a dog as his human form began to shatter and break down and his wolf form began to take shape. He only had eyes for Idris as his yowl became an unearthly howl of pain, that gradually changed to an exhausted whimper and panting of completion, although the sound was amplified by the many werewolves around them.

Alphard could never deny the fear that chilled his blood to watch all the pack settle into their wolf forms, even the children becoming cubs, playful and yapping, being nipped by their mothers, once the transformation was over.

He took in the wolf form that was Idris, and sheer astonishment chased away his fear, as he stared at the large white wolf. Had perhaps the Pledge recognised what Idris had become and magic established his Animagus form thereafter? Who could say? But surely this could not be coincidence.

The white wolf stood stiff legged and tall, his ears forward and tail vertical. His hackles bristled. The dog in Alphard awoke to the signal as a growl formed in Idris's throat. Alphard dropped his whole body, drawing his ears and lips back, placing his tail between his legs, arching his back. The dog did not let Alphard roll onto his back, at least not until he knew Idris recognised him as one of his own.

Alphard waited, his heart hammering, the pads on his paws perspiring, still hearing that low growl as the white wolf approached him, sniffing, scenting though its mouth. The nose nuzzled into the hair on Alphard's neck, finding the renewed bite. The wolf sniffed it mightily and his growling slowly waned and a small yip escaped his throat as he then sniffed along the length of Alphard's back and unceremoniously sniffed at Alphard's genitals and rear. Another yip followed and the white wolf turned back to Alphard and barked at him and then at the pack that surrounded them. Alphard's dog recognised it as being the bark of acceptance, indicating Alphard was Idris's and could run with the pack. The betas and the omegas stood down. The dark grey wolf he knew to be Angharad approached him then, sniffing his bite closely and with a yip of her own, nudged him. The dog knew he'd been accepted by the dark wolf, and he then stood, so much larger than any wolf there, but his haunches and ears slightly lowered to signify his submission.

Idris barked and trotted off, followed by Angharad and Alphard and the pack trooped after. The smell of all the wolves assailed Alphard's nostrils, a smell so hefty, Alphard thought he could chew it as the pack began to lope towards the mountain he had run up before. He tried to take in as much as he could of how the pack looked and was stunned to realise that it wasn't just Idris's pack that was running with him, but the other packs too, running in its wake. He wondered how the wolves from the satellite packs had known to band together for safety and submit to an overall Alpha as their human counterparts had done. His brain, dulled in the dog's body, found it couldn't count the number of wolves, but he guessed at over one hundred. One hundred wolves running. A human's nightmare.

He didn't care. For now, all he wanted to do was to feel the rush of the wind in his coat, the smell of the pack mingling with the crisp mountain air, the ancient forest and the gorse of the mountain as they scaled it and he listened to the barks, yips and odd whines and the sounds of the hundreds of paws on the shale as they ascended until they gained the summit and the wolves began to howl. One hundred wolves, howling at the full moon in a massed lupine chorus. Alphard joined in with his booming deep howl, letting his mind go with the pack.

It was well the mountains were secluded but there would be remote farms, both Muggle and magical, that would be securing all their fortifications at the haunting primal sounds echoing down the mountains this night.

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**Next chapter: Dumbledore always has a purpose. **

**Please read and review. **

**Thank you to Smurny, Aynslesa, strix noctis, rubyrosa**

I'll be back from holiday during the week, so will be better with my updates! Thanks for your patience.

Jet – the stone of mourning and of accepting change


	7. Notes and Enquiries

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: Sexually explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

For those reading 'You Will Not Kiss Me', this takes place during chapters 77 and 78.

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**Chapter 7: Notes and Enquiries**

Alphard watched over the pack from his vantage point on the large stone on the top of the mountain, his mostly human mind observing the wolves, so completely devoid of the wizards and witches that they were as some played, some fought, some hunted and some slept. As he watched the occasional ruts of wolf pairs around him, Alphard thought on the roughness of their sex before the change which even now, in this canine body, he could still feel the ache of it.

He had given himself over to it completely when it had happened. In fact, he doubted he could have stopped it even if he had wanted to; it had been irresistible. On top of this mountain, he had thought on it again and how very different it had been from their times together this month. He admitted a little confusion to himself. Alphard was a gentle man; he always had been. He disliked roughness or pain in sex. And yet, for this full moon, his body had yielded completely to Idris's demands on him. It was a far greater control than Alphard had ever experienced because he never would have allowed such a thing, or inflicted such a thing.

Now, as he watched the white wolf take the dark wolf in a brief and brutal rut where the white wolf re-made his claiming bite on the neck of the she-wolf, he thought he understood that Idris re-marked his own when he was the wolf. He could never do that with Alphard during the moon, and so it had to be done before. That had to be why it had been so very different: the wolf was asserting his Claim on Alphard and that was why his own body had been so very accommodating. It made sense to him now.

Alphard scented the air. Much of the rutting had finished now, and many of the older wolves were settling down, if not to sleep, then to rest and watch the younger wolves. He saw that Idris and Angharad did not rest. They mingled with the other wolves, scenting them to recognise them, nuzzling the young and even playing with some. Alphard watched them both adoringly as they made their ways around the pack: his very own mates.

Alphard then looked for the Whitby Werewolves. He wanted to see how Stacy fared as a wolf. He knew what Spindle looked like. He had spotted him in the transformation. He had become as long and skinny a wolf as he was a man. Alphard saw Spindle and saw the little group together. He thought he could guess which was which as they played like cubs. _How funny_, Alphard thought. Idris complained they were not manly men, and neither, it appeared, were they mature wolves, as they yapped and chased their tails and each others' and play fought as if they were cubs. Conway, he thought, was the golden coloured wolf, with tan markings; Spindle was grey, long and skinny; Jethro, dark and tan; Botolph, small and wiry and pale grey with a distinctive black mask. The other two were both brown with dark markings. These must be Freddie and Zebedee but he could not tell which was which.

And there was Stacy, his and Angharad's special charge. A huge grey wolf, bigger than any in the extended pack. He played with the others with none of the reticence of his human counterpart except to ensure that he did not hurt them with his larger paws and jaws. Alphard watched carefully how Stacy as a wolf was calm and assured, his movements co-ordinated and his play natural and purposeful. He didn't know yet how the knowledge would help him, but he was sure that in time he would understand this mystery.

His ears pricked up to the sounds of barks and yips, the occasional growls or whimpers. At the instinctive level of the dog that he became he understood some of the sounds, but in other ways, he didn't. They were the communications of a cursed species, not quite canid just as he was not quite dog. But he picked out the arguments and the playfulness and the warnings and took in as much as he could on his first night, feeling it could one day be important.

Every now and then, a scent would be pulled from the air and a small group would tear off to form a small hunting party, bringing back the prey within an hour or so. There were lambs, an otter, and even one wild goat. Odd how the dog of Alphard wanted the meat but he didn't descend to take some. He still felt apart. Only when the white wolf brought him a leg of goat and laid it at his feet like a lover's offering did Alphard lower himself on his haunches and eat as the white wolf took his turn to watch over him.

So the hours passed and, before the sun rose but whilst the air still carried the frisson of magic of the time between times, Idris called to the pack and within minutes he led the pack back to the camp. Alphard wondered how the pack knew to return to the camp. Perhaps it was those years of learned behaviour, but it still struck him as extraordinary. Alphard followed, catching up a straggling cub carefully in his jaws, until the she-wolf whose cub it was came up to him with a snarl. He dropped the cub at her paws with a harmless whine, and carried on making his own way down the mountain, stopping to sniff because that part of him that was now dog thought it interesting to sniff the markings that the various wolves had left, the multi-faceted information contained on the pheromone acknowledged by the dog. He didn't mark the route himself; he knew that was not his place although he couldn't help but wonder what a true dog would make of his scent marking, or those of a werewolf.

They were now all returned, and Alphard padded through to sit beside Angharad and Idris as, as one, the pack began to whimper and whine as the reversion came upon them all.

This time, Alphard wanted to watch with his Healer's eyes. He tore his eyes away from the two he loved and watched instead those he did not know, closely observing the breaking and wracking of the bones and tendons and how the musculature twisted and changed. The reversion took but a matter of minutes, minutes in which by a curse of deepest Dark magic, a complete physiological change wrought and re-wrought itself on the cursed agonising them to the extremes of pain and bringing them back once more. The rising howls became screams that then slowly became cries, then moans and whimpers of the people, all now lying prone or kneeling, in the same places they had occupied the evening before. Alphard took it all in.

Alphard transformed in a matter of seconds, his own transformation as painless as donning a hat. He checked Idris and Angharad and quickly looked around before grabbing the single dose medications he had been racking before Idris had come to him and his shoulder bag from the door of his tent where he had left it in readiness and made his way straight to the elderly and sick in the roundhouse.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

All in the camp slept. All, except Alphard.

Instead, for the first quiet time he could remember since he had been there, he wrote up copious notes. Firstly, he wrote the medical notes for his elderly and sickly patients. These, for him, were heart-breaking. The damage of the transformations was shocking as their magical cores were depleted with age. He spent hours nursing and healing these patients first. Then, he went around the pack to check for more ordinary injuries from the reversions. These were nothing like as extensive as those for the elderly and sick. Alphard was sure their inability to run with the pack was the cause. What he had noticed was that the cubs had hardly any injuries bar scrapes and bruises. He suspected it was because their bones were still pliable and they were still so supple and maybe even because, as with all children, they knew no differently and did not fight the change. He made notes to check this at the next moon.

After all this was done, he then made notes of all that he had experienced whilst out with the pack and of his observations on Stacy. He noted all the behaviour that he had seen and he even noted as many wolves' markings as he could recall in case he needed to identify any in their wolf forms. What he had seen excited him. Surely no-one had ever had such close proximity to a pack, or the vantage point that a canine Animagus could have? It could be that he could uncover some real breakthroughs. It was certainly his intention.

By the time he had finished, it was late afternoon, and he heard the stirrings of some of the pack and, exhausted, he finally took to his bed to sleep.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

It was with something like shame that Idris let himself through the wards of Alphard's tent with a bowl of hot food that evening. As quietly as he could, he placed the bowl and spoon on the nightstand and cast a warming charm on it.

Idris recalled how he had taken Alphard so roughly the afternoon before. Alphard had not complained, but Idris still felt some revulsion because he did not understand where that forceful lust had come from. He had never felt it before on the day of the full moon; he had always been too drained as the moon pulled on his body.

Idris stood by the bed and watched Alphard sleep. Alphard's face was calm in sleep, but Idris could see by his pallor how exhausted he must have been. Had he not slept? Idris looked around and saw the piles of parchment under paperweights on Alphard's desk and went to look. He read the notes of the elderly werewolves and the care undertaken (as far as he understood Alphard's Healer's annotations) and then skimmed the other notes, just reading enough to know how long these records must have taken. He turned from the desk and watched Alphard again.

Idris sat on the side of Alphard's bed and stroked his long hair from his face, his large hands still capable of great tenderness, and kissed his brow. Alphard's eyes fluttered open and he held his own hand over Idris's.

"I'm sorry, Alf. For yesterday ..." said Idris, his dark eyes intense.

"No need to apologise," Alphard said softly. "I understand."

"You do?" Idris laughed, a small but deep chuckle of embarrassment. "Tell me then. I don't know what came over me."

"The first thing you did when you were transformed was to check my neck for your bite. It's how you recognised that I belonged with you. Angharad did it too," Alphard explained, knowing that they had no memories of anything during their change. "Only when you signalled to the pack that I was yours did the pack stand down from me. I watched you all as wolves. All the couples mated, and the dominant partner bit his mate. I think your instincts made you take me before moonrise and mark me again as you could not or," Alphard shrugged, "perhaps would not do it when you were transformed. That's what I think." Alphard squeezed Idris's hand in re-assurance.

"You may be right. Still, I'm sorry." Idris's hand cradled the side of Alphard's face. "I never wanted you to see me as a beast."

"You are no beast, my love," Alphard said and raised himself up on one arm to kiss Idris.

"May I make love to you now?" Idris asked, hesitantly, as they broke the kiss.

Alphard smiled, a small smile of embarrassment and a flush spread up his cheeks as his leant his forehead against Idris's. "I'm rather sore," he admitted, feeling rather foolish.

"Oh, Alf." Idris had wanted to show him, this day after Alphard had seen him in his beast form that he was no beast. He had wanted to show him that he could still make love to him, not just grab him like a beast.

"Do you trust me not to hurt you, Alf?"

"Of course I do," Alphard responded, his slate eyes darkening.

Idris undressed and Alphard opened the bedclothes for him to join him.

All those years ago in his lodgings in Fye Foot Lane, Idris and Alphard had done everything for each other but that one final step in making love. Idris recalled how they had loved each others' bodies, fervent and ardent, that day before Christmas, before all was lost. He remembered his young self taking Alphard in his mouth and how Alphard had ended up in his arms in something like delirium. Idris had marvelled at Alphard's enjoyment then and, as he began to kiss and stroke Alphard's body, he marvelled once more at Alphard's sighs and encouraging hands in his hair and then Alphard's soft moans as Idris's mouth found his erection and how Alphard stretched and arched under him, babbling his name.

It was everything he remembered – the aching beauty of the writhing body and soft sounds becoming louder and more urgent, the straining hips that his hands held so firmly until Alphard cried out in powerful release. As before, Idris didn't let go of Alphard but greedily took Alphard's release, watching Alphard as he pitched his hips forward, his hands gripping Idris's hair as if his life depended upon it. Ah, to hear Alphard cry out his name in rapture. Idris had forgotten how it had made his being sing with joy.

And now, Alphard lay curled up with him again, his body helpless in his mate's strong arms and he fell asleep once more, sated, exhausted. Idris held him close, feeling peaceful that Alphard still trusted him even though they both knew that what happened yesterday would happen again if Alphard were to run with the wolves.

Idris remembered in Fye Foot Lane that, later that day, Alphard had done the same for him. He recalled that he thought he would split apart it had been so intense and no such deliciousness could exist like that and, by heaven, he could never be that happy again.

Idris had often thought his blasphemy had cost him his humanity and his happiness.

Now, as he held his sleeping mate, Idris would not tempt fate, but this time thanked it for giving him his lover back. He realised that the way they had loved each other back then was not what werewolves did. He had neither touched nor been touched like that again until Alphard had returned to him. Pack werewolves did not spend time heightening extraordinary sensations beyond just sex with knowing fingers and mouths. They did not make love. It was not their way.

But Idris wanted what he had with Alphard back then. He wanted to see his lover ecstatic with joy. Idris knew now, he was still enough of a wizard to know how to love Alphard Black.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

Idris and Alphard had not really known what to make of Dumbledore's request to meet with them, but they had agreed if for no reason other than Alphard's overwhelming curiosity about Andromeda and her family. They had taken the alcove in which they had met nearly four months ago and waited as they shared a jug of ale.

Neither covered their surprise particularly well when Dumbledore joined them, his hair no longer auburn, but white like Idris's and his beard so long that he tucked it in his wide belt that held his violently lime green robes together, robes adorned with silver stars. Alphard wasn't sure that he recalled Dumbledore being that eccentric in his dress when he had been his Transfiguration master. Still, he had known men like Dumbledore before, although it was clear Idris as he could not hide his shocked fascination.

They exchanged pleasantries and Idris poured Dumbledore a tankard of ale.

"First things first, I think," Dumbledore said and he passed a small, rolled parchment tied with ribbon to Alphard, who took it carefully with a look to Idris. The other two men watched with interest as Alphard unrolled the parchment and read the rounded script that he suddenly recalled with piercing clarity as being that of his niece, Andromeda:

_For Uncle Alphard. Andy and Ted Tonks live at 8 Park Drive, Barnes, London S.W. _

"Thank you," Alphard whispered, and he rolled up the parchment carefully and re-tied the ribbon and placed it in his robe pocket. "Thank you so much."

Dumbledore smiled, inclined his head and then reached for his tankard. Alphard's eyes fell upon Dumbledore's hand – withered and blackened by a curse of great power.

"May I?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded and Alphard took the dying hand in his own and cast his wand over it, the other two men watching in silence. "A counter-curse of great power traps the first," he said with appreciation. "Your own work?"

"No, indeed," Dumbledore said amiably. "Our Defence professor is adept at his work. And a course of _Spiritus Vitae_ until ... well, until it works no more."

Alphard's intense gaze wavered to hear the man speak of his own ultimate demise so casually, but then, a wizard of the renown of Albus Dumbledore would know his time was limited and would feel the contagion of the curse in his magical core. There would be no denying the truth from oneself. He concentrated once more on trying to read the counter-curse.

"A potion that is hard to concoct," Alphard noted, still intent with his own wand, "but this counter-curse is not something I've seen before, even when I worked in curse-damage. I should like to meet your Defence professor. This is quite something."

Idris watched the exchange with interest and no small amount of pride at Alphard's knowledge. When Alphard asked to meet the Defence professor, he saw Dumbledore's seemingly mild gaze flicker to Idris himself. It was but a moment, but Idris was convinced he had not mistaken it.

"Perhaps it would be possible," he said, in an off-hand manner then fixed his gaze on Idris's ring that Alphard wore.

"May I ask," he said with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes, "does the ring – ah – signify your union, or reunion, as it were?"

Alphard was dumbstruck. Such a question! But Idris found it emboldened him. He grasped Alphard's hand possessively.

"Aye, our reunion," Idris said proudly.

"I am delighted." Dumbledore sat back on his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. "May I pass on the news to Remus and ... his partner?"

"Of course," Idris confirmed. "Are they well? Remus Lupin certainly seems to be successful sending werewolves to me for you."

Dumbledore didn't answer immediately, but looked pensive and leant forward confidentially. "Idris, you have known Remus and his mate. Remus lived with you for a time. It may be that you can help them."

Idris brow furrowed as he encouraged Dumbledore to go ahead.

"What I wish to tell you so I may seek your assistance is dangerous and could endanger both Remus and his mate. I hope I have proven my good faith towards you in reuniting you. May I ask you please for your good faith in return?"

Idris leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist as he regarded Dumbledore. It was a lot to ask a man he hadn't seen since he was a boy. He turned to Alphard who had been looking at the two men.

"When I visited Sirius," Alphard said, "he told me of some of the work of the Order against Riddle and that Professor Dumbledore co-ordinated it." He turned to Dumbledore. "Is what you ask in the course of your work against Riddle?"

"It is," Dumbledore said. "Ask me what you need to, Alphard, my boy."

"If what you tell us becomes known, who will the danger come from?"

"Tom Riddle and his followers, the Death Eaters."

"Will the knowledge endanger Idris and his pack?"

Dumbledore inhaled deeply. "I don't believe so, unless Remus and his mate were with you if Riddle found out."

"If any werewolf is under my protection, Dumbledore, Riddle better think twice before trying to hurt them," Idris growled. "I give you my good faith on my magic Dumbledore."

"And I," Alphard stated, in tandem with his mate. Each man held out their wand and Dumbledore raised his and cast their oaths of fidelity.

"You have met Remus Lupin's mate," Dumbledore started.

"Aye, Seth Moore. What of him?" Idris asked.

Dumbledore blinked once, but that slight hesitation was not missed by Idris.

"Seth Moore also works for the Order. His work is highly dangerous. The risks he takes for the Light are great," said Dumbledore urgently.

"How risky is it to be a tutor in Barmouth?" Idris laughed gruffly.

Once again, Dumbledore seemed baffled, but only for a scintilla of time.

"I take it he is no such thing then," Idris rumbled, thinking of how many times he had thought that there was more to Seth Moore than had met the eye. "A disguise?"

"Of a sort, yes. Seth – or Severus Snape to give him his true name - is a spy for me. He has been for many years. His work takes him to report to Riddle himself, but that is not the secret."

"It's not?" Alphard chimed in, startled.

"Indeed, no. For many years, Riddle has believed that Severus is his spy and I am deceived in him. Just how I wish it to be." Dumbledore smiled merrily, but then his demeanour returned to its seriousness once more. "The secret that Riddle must never discover is that Severus is mated to Remus."

Both Alphard and Idris understood immediately. Indeed, who better to understand?

"I understand, but why do you need us to know this?" asked Idris.

"I need some help. I had thought their union was fairly unusual, and although I know of other such pairs, they are also of young people. People without your breadth of experience. Now that I see ..." he indicated delicately to the ring on Alphard's finger, "that this a union of, say we say, wiser heads, I hope that you, Idris, as an Alpha of a pack, will have better knowledge of how Lycanthropy works than others."

"Go on," Idris said, intrigued still further.

"It is the nature of Severus's work that he can be called to Riddle's side at a moment's notice. Not to obey would result in appalling injury to himself. Last full moon, he was unable to get away from Riddle in time for moonrise ..."

"Ach," Idris grimaced. He had only seen it a few times in his long life as a werewolf when a changing Were had been caught without his or her mate, having been trapped elsewhere. How the poor ones had suffered! The pack had hardly ever had the expertise required to heal them fully. No indeed, werewolves rarely allowed their mates to stray away from them near the moon.

"How is Remus Lupin now?" Idris asked quickly.

"Severus got back to him to heal him and was with him for the rest of the moon. Once they are together, the worst passes over and Severus is quite an accomplished healer." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "However, Fate has conspired against them in that Riddle commands Severus's presence for Dark rituals each full moon from now on. You see our difficulty ..."

Idris's eyes widened at the horror of it. "But Seth Moore ... this Severus ... will be brought low, and Remus Lupin ..." Idris screwed his eyes shut at the memory of crippled werewolves he had seen.

"Quite so," Dumbledore said quietly.

"So this is what you need to know? How it can be helped?"

Dumbledore nodded with a sad smile. Idris sat back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hands and then held those hands over his mouth as he thought.

"There is something, but it is inimical to our kind," Idris ventured.

"Inimical?" Alphard repeated.

Idris sat forward and clasped Alphard's hand. "When I was young, there was a Were called Andrew. He was Dai's most trusted Beta. His mate went missing before the full moon. Hours before the moon was due to rise and there no sign of her, even though we had searched. Dai asked one of the single women to be his second mate. Andrew didn't want to, but Dai would not let him refuse. Andrew marked her in time before moonrise and so he was saved from the sickness."

"What happened to his mate? His original mate?" whispered Alphard.

Idris turned to Alphard, his eyes sad. "We found her late the next day. She had been caught in an illegal mantrap in the old forest – that's why she couldn't get back to camp. Her wounds from that and her changes caught in that with the sickness – she couldn't survive." Idris shook his head in remembrance.

"So Remus needs another mate?" asked Dumbledore, bringing them back to the purpose of the recollection.

"As I say, it's inimical to us. It's very rare a werewolf takes a second mate. That I have is ... well, because of who he is, not that I just can." He gave Alphard a small smile. "It takes a lot of understanding and trust. All three mates have to understand fully what it means."

"Can you think of anything else that would help them?" Dumbledore asked.

"In truth, I cannot. Only death releases the Claim of a werewolf. We are, after all, Dark creatures."

A heavy silence fell over the men as the considered the import of Idris's words. Then, Dumbledore inhaled deeply once more as if to signal that he wished to move on, and drank half his tankard of ale.

"Fine ale, very fine indeed. Now, gentlemen, the purpose of my visit ..."

"That wasn't it?" Alphard asked.

"Indeed, no. It was merely fortuitous that we had this meeting scheduled. What I've really come for, Idris, is your advice. Advice, as only you who hears Wandsong, can give. May I ask you, please, to listen to my wand?

Idris held Dumbledore's mild gaze for a while, surprised by the request as he had been surprised by the whole meeting. Then he held his hand out for Dumbledore's wand.

He closed his eyes before it even touched his hand as he felt the thaumatic energy resonating in the air. Then he felt the wood touch his palms.

A wand that dripped with more magic than Idris had ever felt, both Dark and Light, ancient and modern. The song of this wand was multi-layered, symphonic, made up of many chords of the most reverberating and yet ethereal sound – Wandsong magnified. Idris's heart beat too fast, he was delirious with the wand's telling. Yes, Dumbledore had been chosen by this wand many years ago –

"Yours by combat," Idris said the thought aloud, his eyes still shut.

"That's right," Dumbledore said lightly.

"Elder and Thestral hair," Idris said, his voice thick. He swallowed audibly, staring intently at the wand in his hands. Eventually, he looked at Dumbledore, his dark eyes blazing.

"The Death Stick."

"You know of it? I wondered if you would."

"Mr. Ollivander. ...

"Garrick?"

"Not the son, the father."

"Gervaise," confirmed Dumbledore.

"Aye. He told me of the Death Stick one summer when I worked there." His tone was hushed. He still held the wand between his fingers. "A thing of legend. Folklore. But he knew differently. He said he held it once."

"Oh yes?" said Dumbledore, mildly.

"Aye, he had held it at the request of a braggart in an ale house in Frying Pan Alley back before I was born. A young devil called Grindelwald." Idris fancied he saw Dumbledore flinch. A miniscule reaction, but Idris saw it.

"So, Garrick would know it exists?" Dumbledore enquired lightly.

"If I do, he will. His father would have told him."

"Do you know more about it, how it is won? Is it the same as any other wand?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes intense.

Idris felt very strongly that the question was of great import, the whole reason why Dumbledore had come to him. As he gently rolled the wand in his fingers, he understood the import. This wand was a terrible thing. As he listened, he understood that it was a wand that sought power from those who wielded it. Each powerful owner imparted some of his magic to the wand itself, accreting power to itself! It was an evil thing. Its power had been contained by Dumbledore's own considerable sorcery. Ultimately, the wand's power could be limited.

"Its allegiance passes by combat only," Idris pronounced. "If its master dies unbeaten, the wand's power is broken."

"That is the key?" Dumbledore asked quickly, his eyes alight. "It's important that I know how to break it."

"Aye, that is the key. To break the invincibility of this wand – this bringer of death – you must die undefeated, Albus Dumbledore. Let no man best you before your death."

Dumbledore nodded. "I believe I have taken care of it."

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**Thank you to Smurny and Illayne for your reviews.**

Please read and review.

Just a note: Yes, wolves do bark, but not as much as dogs, so my research tells me.


	8. Cursed

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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**Chapter 8: Cursed**

Before Dumbledore left them, he asked Idris for his opinion of Thestral hair as a core for wands.

"Wouldn't use 'em," said Idris, shaking his head. "They were fashionable in olden times for duelling wands – like that one." He nodded his head to Dumbledore's wand. "It is the intrinsic nature of the hair to be visible by death. Powerful and retains darkness, I say. Difficult to control." He regarded Dumbledore for a while. "You seem to have mastered that one though."

"It _is_ an extraordinary wand, without a doubt. When I first won it, I felt its strength. It is, I believe you are right, first and foremost, a duelling wand. But it is capable of channelling extraordinarily creative magic. It is ... a remarkable tool." Dumbledore held the wand between his fingers to examine it.

"Aye," Idris concurred, eyeing the Elder Wand disdainfully. "It is a thing that could make a man mad without your skill, sir."

Dumbledore glanced carelessly at the wand and murmured something. To Idris's acute hearing, it sounded like, "The very least of them," but he could not be sure.

"I remember I made a list for Mr. Ollivander of the best cores for wands," he said, recalling the memory suddenly. "Unicorn hair, dragon heartstring and phoenix feather." He counted them off on his calloused fingers. "I wonder if they ever used it ..."

"Oh yes, dear boy. That list is all his son will work by," smiled Dumbledore.

Idris found himself oddly flattered.

"Don't you mind that he profits by your work?" asked Alphard, feeling the heat of anger suddenly.

"No," replied Idris lightly. "All the better for decent wands. After all, who would buy wands from an ageing werewolf?" He nudged Alphard with his elbow and smiled at his mate's simmering outrage.

"I must leave you now." Dumbledore stood, and Alphard and Idris did likewise. "I thank for this most excellent ale, and for the information you have given me. It has been most illuminating and instructive." His countenance became grave.

"There is another thing that I must tell you. I fear it may concern you. Tom Riddle kidnapped Garrick Ollivander some weeks ago. Although I have not as yet discovered why particularly, I believe it is a matter of time before he turns his sights to you as the only one who hears Wandsong. It is my belief that the information you have given me so freely, Riddle will kill for. You must be ever vigilant."

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

The knowledge that Riddle had taken Ollivander prisoner and might come for him again after all these years had disturbed Idris terribly. His nights gradually became plagued with nightmares of Riddle the prefect and Vargulf, and the death of his second mate at the hands of Greyback. The nightmares lost their otherworldly quality fairly rapidly, instead becoming detailed remembrances.

Both Alphard and Angharad tried to soothe him, but the memories he had not dwelt upon for decades seemed to assail him at night. He refused any calming or sleeping draughts Angharad or Alphard offered him, and let the memories unfold.

/

_Idris had come awake, his shoulder ravaged with pain. There was no light in the dank place where he lay. The smell of mould and sweat assailed his nostrils and he tasted the copper tang of blood. He knew it was his own. He tried to move, but even a small movement jarred the jagged wound. He whimpered, trembling all over in pain and fear as he dragged himself into a crouching position leaning against the slimy brickwork, and clutched his hand to his torn shoulder. He only managed to stifle his scream on hearing voices outside the filthy room he had been left in._

"_Right," said a deep, rough, uncultured voice. "Just how do I force the little bleeder ter do like he's tol'?"_

"_I would have thought that a ... man such as you knows how to keep youngsters in order." _

_It was Riddle. Restraining his sobs, Idris could hear the sneer in Riddle's voice. Idris's heart pumped so hard in fear, it hurt his ribcage. Then his blood chilled to hear the growling laugh of the werewolf._

"_I should say I do." Idris swore the man who uttered those words smacked his lips._

"_But he must be well enough to work," snapped Riddle. "You mustn't injure him. He is to be our wandmaker. If you want your pack to have wands, you'll not harm him."_

"_Wands. Yes. Them I bites young have no wands."_

_Idris had pushed himself back into the wall. They meant to keep him. Not let him go!_

_He started to shiver violently and he felt his bottom lip tremble. Oh, he was so frightened and he hurt so much. Hot tears ran freely down his grimy face as he desperately tried not to cry out loud. He wanted Alphard. No, he wanted his father. He just wanted his da to come and fetch him. Wrap him up in his strong arms and tell him everything would be all right. Hug him and heal him and put him into his nice clean bed at home, just like when he was small. He wanted his daddy. He curled up in on himself, sobbing as quietly as he could as the voices outside continued._

"_Take this to heal him quickly," Riddle ordered imperiously._

"_You know there'll always be a scar," the deep voice challenged. "Why d'you want ter waste this. He'll heal quick enough. He's wolfkind now."_

"_No!" Idris gasped. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" he moaned even though his knew it was the truth. It was a werewolf that bit him. If he was alive, he must now be a werewolf too. The smells, the tastes – all so pungent. His hearing, so acute. He let his head fall back onto the brick wall and he let out a mighty sob of anguish that wracked his young body._

"_Well, well. Your guest is awake, Vargulf. Now, get in there and heal him."_

_A large, rusty iron door swung inwards, and, now trembling violently and crying uncontrollably, unable to harness this new terror, Idris curled up in the corner, whispering prayers he had heard the Muggle labourers use on his father's farm._

_Several spots of light outlined the huge form of the one Riddle called Vargulf. He cast an illumination spell, and Idris shielded his eyes against the sudden flare of brightness, crying out as he hurt his wound once more._

"_Boy!" the werewolf barked. "C'mere!"_

_Idris pushed his face against the wall, covering his head, his terror overwhelming even the agony of the bite as he smelt the same foetid stench that had assaulted him when he had been taken down by the wolf._

"_I said, c'mere!" the werewolf growled deeper and Idris was yanked from the wall by a large, unforgiving hand and he howled as the congealing wound ripped open once more._

"_Ach, whadcha expect, if you don' do as yer tol'?"_

_Idris's mind could barely comprehend the creature he saw before him that had his injured arm in such a painful cinch. If ever someone had asked him to describe a cursed creature, it would be this man._

_Idris had only seen one man taller than Vargulf, and that was Rubeus who was rumoured to be a half-giant. This man was every child's nightmare. His body was broad, and every inch of visible flesh was covered with coarse hair, matted on his chest. His hands were large and cruel. His face was bony and his gritted teeth were pointed and sharp. His eyes were the hard yellow eyes of a wolf._

_Idris whimpered in his terror before this man-wolf, whose stench polluted his nose and made his stomach roil._

"_Please, sir, please don't hurt me anymore. Please don't!" he whimpered, tears streaming down his face._

"_Sir, is it?" the werewolf leered nastily. "Do as yer tol' and stop snivellin' an' you'll live," sneered Vargulf at the boy half-hanging from his vice-like grip. He dragged Idris into the crampt hallway and up rickety wooden stairs and into a run-down hall. _

_Idris looked around himself as he struggled to keep from falling as the werewolf strode across the hall, a place as filthy as the cellar, but not as damp. Plaster peeled from the lathes of the wall and ceilings, old curtains were torn and faded. He saw and smelt other werewolves, children and adults, congregating around them._

_His feet partly skipped and were dragged as the werewolf marched Idris to a large marble fireplace. Riddle stood by it, his elbow perched on the mantel. Vargulf flung the injured boy to the floor in front of Riddle._

_Whimpering and holding the ragged bite on his shoulder, Idris looked up at the prefect smiling so triumphantly down on him. Riddle, so clean and handsome and ... human. Idris realised he could smell Riddle's humanity. He could smell the sandalwood soap the prefect had used that morning. He could smell the pomade on his hair. He could hear the blood pumping around Riddle's body – hear his heart beating._

_Idris could rip out that heart with his teeth._

_And he found he wanted to. No. Not him. Someone else. Something else. Sharing his body._

"_Lydiard!" Riddle's voice brought Idris's mind back into focus. "You know you only have yourself to blame for this, don't you."_

_Idris narrowed his eyes to try to see through the tears and the pain, and to quell this creature that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest: a violent, passionate creature; a creature that wanted to kill!_

"_For God's sake!" snapped Riddle. "Treat that bite. He needs to be fit to do his work."_

_Idris glared hatefully at Riddle, as Vargulf tore the bloody shirt from Idris's back, not caring that part of the cotton was stuck in the wound. Idris howled in renewed pain._

"_Wha'sis then?" the werewolf growled, snatching the pouch from Idris's neck and breaking the cord._

"_Give it back!" Idris hissed as he grappled uselessly with the werewolf's strong arm. He was swatted away._

_The werewolf tried to open the pouch, but it refused to yield to him._

"_It won't open to you," Riddle said lazily, as if any fool should know it. "He'll have to get the contents out for you."_

"_I won't!" Idris shouted, thinking of those few things he had in there: his mother's wand and his grandfather's jet ring._

"_Crucio!" Riddle spat and whatever pain Idris thought he had before paled into insignificance as all his nerve endings flamed in pain and he screamed in agony. The pain ceased and Idris gasped for breath crawling on the floor, feeling his flesh crawl and undulate._

"_I'm sick of your disobedience, Lydiard," Riddle said, and flipped Idris over with his foot. "You'd better start thinking about your attitude if you want to live." Riddle stood straight, still sneering at the stricken boy. "Now, show us what is in that pouch." Riddle aimed his wand squarely at Idris's heart and Idris knew Riddle would cast the torture curse again if he didn't comply. Still sobbing, he pulled his two treasures from the pouch._

_Riddle snatched the wand immediately and placed it in his pocket, to Idris's dismayed cry of "No!" and Vargulf grabbed the ring and turned it around in his fingers._

"_This worth much?" he barked._

"_It ... was ... my grandpa's," Idris whispered. "Please don't take it."_

_Riddle Summoned the ring from Vargulf who growled menacingly at the prefect._

"_It's not worth much, although the gold is unusual." Riddle tossed the ring in the air nonchalantly and caught it and put it on the mantelpiece. "You want it back?" Idris nodded. "Then you work for it," sneered Riddle._

_Idris hung his head, too hurt and too hungry to protest as his eyes filled with desperate tears once more._

"_You may as well give him the pouch back. No-one else can use it now," said Riddle carelessly. "Now, get him healed so I can talk to him."_

"_Yer so keen ter 'ave him healed, why don' you do it?" the werewolf growled._

"_Watch your mouth," hissed Riddle, now aiming his wand at the werewolf. "I don't touch filthy beasts!"_

_Idris could see the werewolf was angered by the prefect, but, although he snarled, he turned back to Idris and murmured a cleaning spell at the bite and then applied liberal amounts of Dittany to the wound. Idris hissed in pain as he huddled against the floor but he started to feel the relief of the Dittany within seconds._

"_Never fully heal, mind," the werewolf said to Riddle. "Them bites don'"_

"_I realise that," Riddle spat. "I don't need him to be pretty. I need him to work."_

_At that moment, Idris saw a handsome owl just outside the window. Idris was sure it was Deacon, Alf's owl. Of course it was. He'd known the owl since they started school together. _

'_Don't come in. Don't come in,' he mentally implored the bird, who sat in the bough of a tree, its head turning around as it waited._

"_C-c-can I go ... go to the toilet please?" asked Idris, although his body still shook and he didn't know if he could walk but he hoped there might be a window. _

"_Take him." Riddle sneered at him again._

_The werewolf grabbed his upper arm again and yanked him upright and dragged him along the corridor to a small cloakroom. Vargulf looked at the window, sizing up the small fanlight and his captive and deciding it was safe._

_Idris wasn't sure he'd be allowed to close the door, but Vargulf said nothing when he did. He did go to the toilet, using the sound of the stream to cover his wrenching open the two louvres. _

_Idris managed to push his arm through the open louvres and hiss Deacon's name as loudly as he dared. Within seconds the bird had flown to him and perched precariously on one of the open panes as Idris fumbled with the note, eventually controlling his trembling fingers enough to undo the tie. _

_Suddenly, he heard the werewolf thumping on the door. "Hurry up, yer little bleeder!"_

"_Coming!" he called out shakily, and quickly placed the parchment in the pouch. "Wait for me, Deacon. I'll try to find a quill." The bird flew up, and Idris tried to close the window to the sound of the flush just as Vargulf crashed through the door and saw the bird._

"_Whassat doin' 'ere?" he growled and ran out of the cloakroom and out of the hall and jumped and caught hold of the bird. Idris stumbled after him._

"_No! Don't!" screamed Idris and jumped on Vargulf's back, trying to dig his fingers into the werewolf's face. Vargulf let go of the bird and grabbed the boy by his recently-healed shoulder and yanked him around, hitting him with the back of his fist hard. The bird was away, Idris thought wildly until he felt the boot of Vargulf in his ribs and the foetid breath of the werewolf over him once more as he leaned over him and raised one huge fist._

"_NO!" Riddle commanded and strode quickly to where Idris lay, blood trickling from his mouth, curled in on himself. "Get away from him. He's too useful."_

"_There was an owl. Mightta been tryin' ter get a message out," the werewolf thundered._

"_Well he didn't, did he?" Riddle quickly mended Idris's ribs with a flick of his wand, but didn't bother with his split lip._

"_Take him away and I'll talk to him tomorrow. Do NOT hurt him anymore."_

_The werewolf grunted and dragged Idris away. As Idris was thrown back into the cellar, he heard the crack of Apparition signalling the departure of Tom Riddle and he wept on the damp floor where he had landed._

_Eventually, he calmed and Conjured bluebell flames. It was the only wandless spell he had mastered, but he was grateful for it: it gave him a muted light so he couldn't see fully the bleak horror of his prison, and it was just enough to read the note. As he read Alf's desperate pleas for news of his well-being, he knew his love would be tormented by his sudden disappearance, knew he would be bullied by that hateful family of his. Idris sniffed as he read the note, and drew a filthy finger over Alphard's love and signature. He pressed the parchment to his heart and a sob ripped from his chest._

_/_

_Each morning, a stale bread roll and a beaker of water would appear for him and he would pick at the roll and sip the water to make it last. He learnt quickly that it would be all he would get until he had seen Riddle._

_Every day, Riddle came and Idris would be dragged up from the cellar. Every time, he refused to make wands for Vargulf and Riddle. Riddle would always curse him, but never long enough to do any permanent damage. As if that wasn't bad enough, Riddle would use Idris's mother's wand to curse him. He defiled it - that wand Idris had carried with him since his father bestowed it on him. In some ways, that was worse torture for Idris._

_Vargulf wanted to torture him in a more physical manner, but Riddle refused his permission. Idris could feel the werewolf's hatred for Riddle. He could almost taste it. But he also could smell Vargulf's fear. Riddle may have been young, but Idris knew that he was already an accomplished Dark wizard._

_By Idris's reckoning, it had been two weeks since he had woken up in this prison. He did not know how long he had been unconscious after he had been Turned. He was cold, weak, tired and frightened. He had been given very little to eat or drink, but for the past five days, he had felt something like vigour returning to his bones. They hadn't learnt about werewolves in detail at school, but he did know that they became stronger with the waxing of the moon. He guessed that this was what was happening. _

_With the strength in his bones, his thoughts became clearer. He had to get away. To get away, he had to get out of this cellar. He needed his wand. He wanted his mementoes back. He had to play along._

_Idris fingered the pouch around his neck; empty but for the note from Alphard. His own beautiful Alf. Idris found his eyes stung again as he thought of Alf in his bed, naked and beautiful in his bed. Hot, acidic tears began to flow once more as the realisation dawned that Alf could never be his again; not now Idris was a beast – a Dark creature. _

_He wrapped his arms around his knees and sobbed as he remembered how Alf looked; how he laughed; how he sat when he was reading; oh! his smile; his body; how he kissed; how he smelled; the sound of his voice; how his touch made Idris feel. Never to have these things again. His heart swelled with pain in his chest and he let his tears fall freely again._

_/_

"_Well?" clipped Riddle. "Are you going to be reasonable? Do you ever want to eat properly again?"_

_Idris stood, head bowed. He was partially clothed, cold, dirty and he knew he smelt very bad indeed. He nodded meekly._

"_Good," Riddle said smugly. "I knew you'd see things my way, eventually."_

"_I'll," Idris coughed as his voice rasped, "I'll need my wand and materials."_

"_Yes, yes. Of course," the prefect nodded with perfect munificence._

"_And a room with natural light to work by."_

"_Don' ask fer much, do 'ee, little bleeder," scowled Vargulf._

"_I can't work in the dark ... sir," whispered Idris, hoping he seemed pitiful enough._

_Vargulf growled._

"_Anything else?" asked Riddle._

"_I'd like a bath, sir, and to have a robe. I'm very cold." He whispered all this with practised meekness._

"_Good boy." Riddle patted him on the head then wiped his hand on his robe. Idris bit his lip. He had to get out. To get out they had to trust that he wouldn't run away. Only then would he get his wand._

_/_

_For six days, Idris worked in a small study in the old dilapidated manor house. It had a large picture window that let in plenty of light. Riddle had procured lengths of wood – oak and elm – and a supply of unicorn hair. Riddle whittled away with his wand. He was achieving very little, but he took his time and looked busy._

_Although Vargulf and a young werewolf called Fenrir guarded him closely, each day he was given a little further leeway. He did not speak unless he was spoken to and went willingly back to the cellar at night, giving up his wand as he went. He heard all manner of noises at night and could smell that the werewolves in the rooms above were rutting. It made him ill and turned him on at the same time. He didn't want to be with them. He would read his note from Alf and try to sleep as best he could, but he would always end up crying._

_/_

_On the seventh day, as he whittled, he noticed Vargulf was distracted by some of the younger werewolves, fighting savagely between themselves outside. Idris pretended not to notice, seeing from the corner his eyes, Vargulf inching towards the door to check._

"_Sort 'em out, Fenrir!" he barked, and the younger werewolf charged out, bellowing at the miscreants._

_Idris looked at the wood he was whittling even closer than before, although now his stomach was flipping over, hearing the shouting raging from nearby. His hearing suddenly became incredibly acute, and the hair on his arms rose. It would be soon. He could feel it. Then he heard Fenrir calling for Vargulf above a cacophony of screams and yells, and the Alpha uttered a string of obscenities and took off without giving Idris a second look._

_Idris listened to the receding footsteps and then shot up and ran to the hall. He Summoned his mother's wand and grandfather's ring from the mantel and put them in his pouch. Quickly checking that the pack were now surrounding the main culprits in the fight, egging them on, Idris found his way to the back door. He panicked for a split second, wondering how he would get a time advantage on any chase. _

_He resolved: he cast a huge _Incendio_ on the hall and all its furnishings so the fire roared up. And with that, he ran and ran for miles until his lungs roared with pain. He stopped, his hands braced on his knees, trying to breathe and in the distance he heard shouting and yelling. Shouting and yelling and the howl of a wolf._

_His blood froze. There were no wolves in Britain, except werewolves. But it wasn't full moon. As fast and as painfully as his heart was beating before, it thundered now and his blood crashed in his ears. In the distance, he could make out several werewolves tracking him led by a huge grey wolf. He knew – with a sinking sick feeling – that wolf was Vargulf. His stomach roiled with terror._

/

He concentrated on the deep breathing and snores all he heard around himself. He had forgotten how complete that terror had been, realising that Vargulf could change at will into a wolf. He'd not seen it in another werewolf since. It took at certain kind of animalism to accomplish it. He closed his eyes again and fell back into the recollection.

/

_He had no idea where he had run to, but he knew exactly where he wanted to be, and he was determined to get there. He wanted his da. He wanted to be safe at home. He'd be no trouble; he'd lock himself up in the root cellar at full moon, he didn't care. He just wanted to be home. _

_Idris had never done it before, but he knew the principles: determination, destination and deliberation. If he didn't do it now, they would catch him again. Holding his wand close to his rasping chest, he thought of home and turned and Disapparated to his father's farm at Cadr Idris. _

/

Idris stared at the ceiling of the roundhouse as his breath hitched at the sudden recollection of the treatment he received from his father. He'd been engulfed in his arms, as he hoped he would be. Fed by Rosie, their Muggle housekeeper. His father had then taken him up for a bath. It was then Vereticus Lydiard saw the terrible bite, and Idris confessed all. Idris felt his eyes sting once more. He didn't want to remember that. He hated remembering that.

He looked at Alphard instead, who slept next to him, his head pressing against his arm. After all those years, that his Alf would be with him still struck him as miraculous. He glanced at Angharad, curled up small, as she always did. He wouldn't lose any of it again.

Riddle may come for him; Greyback may try. Idris would revenge himself on Riddle this time: no matter what it took, Idris promised himself.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL~ AB~IL

Alphard stood at the door of the unassuming house in Muggle Barnes. No Muggle would see him in his fine robes as he had Disillusioned himself. Even so, it seemed so incongruous that his niece, Andromeda Tonks, née Black, should live in such an ordinary house as this. Of course, his brother and sister were long dead, but he couldn't help chuckling at their imagined horrified reactions. How very colourful his sister's invective would have been. He suppressed a smirk and knocked at the door.

At first, Alphard didn't recognise the man who answered the door, although the wide, bright smile was familiar.

"Uncle Alphard," the rotund blonde man said jovially, "it's good to see you."

Alphard shook the proffered hand. "Ted?" he asked, realising with alarm that the last he'd seen of Ted Tonks was over twenty years ago. He was no longer the athletic beater but a middle-aged wizard. "Good to see you," Alphard said with a smile.

Ted laughed heartily and clapped Alphard on the back, in a very un-Black-like manner. "Still slim, Uncle Alphard, unlike some!" Ted patted his round tummy and guided Alphard into the first reception room.

There, by the fireplace, was Andromeda. She moved towards him, not a young woman anymore, but still beautiful and regal. Unbidden, Alphard felt his eyes sting and a lump in his throat.

"Uncle Alphard. It _is _you," she said softly. Then she fell into his arms, like the little girl she used to be and held him tightly. He fancied he heard a small sniff, but he didn't let on he'd heard it, but brushed her hair gently and kissed the crown of her head. Eventually, she pulled herself away and invited him to dine.

Andromeda, ever the perfect hostess, trained by the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, had set out a perfect dinner table, with a faultless menu. It was hardly surprising that Ted had plumped up with such good living.

She questioned him closely about the renunciation ritual and they talked of Sirius and his tragic death at the hands of Andy's sister. Then she and Ted told him of the _Fidelius_ they had asked Dumbledore for to protect their location from the crazed elements of her family before the fall of Riddle – even Narcissa's husband had made threats towards them.

"And Nymphadora – well, she's an Auror now," Andromeda said, as she poured coffee from an elegant silver pot.

"You must be very proud," Alphard said, smiling, as he accepted the small, dainty coffee cup and saucer.

A haunted look crossed her beautiful features. Alphard frowned at the look, especially as Ted patted her hand in a reassuring gesture.

"It's hard, Uncle, knowing we were the only Blacks truly afflicted by the Lydiard Curse."

Alphard's mouth dropped open as he stared at his niece.

"What are you talking about? Lydiard? As in my friend at school?" he whispered in shock.

Andromeda snorted in disgust. "Aunt Walburga told us all about your half-blood friend who got himself bitten by a werewolf! She told us how your friend's father tried to inveigle you into seeing him. Becoming like him, and all to besmirch the Black family name."

"And you believed her twisted rubbish?" gasped Alphard, shocked at the turn in the conversation.

I don't know what I believe! All I know is that Vereticus Lydiard cursed the Blacks that all they feared would come to pass and the Blacks would be blood traitors and shape-shifters all! That was the curse: blood traitors and shape-shifters all. Well, both Sirius and I are ... were... blood traitors and ... well you know about Nymphadora."

"But, Andy, being a metamorphagus is a much sought-after gift. You can't believe that it's a curse," implored Ted. "I thought we'd agreed ..."

"That's right," Alphard agreed.

"Of course, it's a curse, Uncle. Our own daughter is a shape-shifter," she spat vehemently.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but the stricken look on Ted's face told Alphard this was something Ted had never wanted to hear again.

"Andy, you shouldn't believe your daughter is cursed. It's a gift. Exceptional. Rare," said Alphard softly.

"No!" she said through gritted teeth. "Not only is she a shape-shifter, she seeks them out. Seeks out filthy werewolves for company!"

Alphard's breath stopped at his niece's vehemence. He said nothing, as she carried on.

"She had a boyfriend – a serious boyfriend for three years – a werewolf. She thought we didn't know, but the Wizarding community is small, and Ted heard at work. He's dead now, thank Salazar, but that doesn't change the fact that shape-shifters attract."

"Andromeda, stop!" Ted cried. "She's our own daughter."

Alphard didn't know what to say, as his niece covered her face with her beautiful, manicured hands.

"I've never heard of the Lydiard Curse," he said softly. "But I will tell you this, Andy. If it's true, I can probably understand why Vereticus Lydiard cursed our family. They cursed his. I'm not saying it was right, but Idris was his only son."

"Uncle!" Andromeda cried. "How could anything justify it?" Alphard held up his hand for silence.

"My sister, your Aunt Walburga, connived with Tom Riddle to trap my friend, Idris Lydiard, with a werewolf at the full moon. He was bitten, and became a werewolf too. Walburga did that because Idris was a half-blood and - he was my lover. She ruined his life, Andy, and she ruined mine."

"I don't believe you!" she hissed and turned her face from him again. Alphard's stomach sank.

"However, it's true. I searched for Idris for years. That's why I left the country, looking for him."

"Why would you look for a filthy beast?" she spat, suddenly reminding Alphard quite forcefully of his sister. Perhaps, some prejudices were just too ingrained. It was one thing to fall for a Muggle-born, but anything more was too much to ask. He certainly wasn't going to tell her about finding Idris now.

"I think, Andy, we shouldn't discuss this anymore," Alphard said sadly. "We are not going to agree."

Their reunion didn't recover. No matter how hard Ted tried to open new topics, Andromeda remained frigid towards Alphard. Even when Alphard asked directly how to contact Nymphadora, Andromeda avoided answering him and, with a sharp wave of her hand, stopped her husband from doing so. Eventually they fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Alphard took his leave, and Ted saw him to the door with promises to talk her around. Alphard gave him the address of the inn at Cadr Idris in case Andromeda changed her mind.

He was met at the Apparition point by Angharad, eager for news of his family. He pulled her into a gentle hug, his soul feeling bruised that his wonderful new family could be so despised.

"She was and will always be a Black," said Alphard heavily. Angharad pressed a hand to his arm in comfort and led him back to camp as he told her all.

* * *

**Please read and review. **

**Thank you to Smurny and rubyrosa.**

(For Andy/Ted shippers – read that scene with Harry and you know she wants to hex him – it's on the tip of her tongue! Always a Black. I rather admire her.)


	9. Defences

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Defences**

Idris had dressed and left the tent to oversee the werewolves' defensive training. Even on a bitterly cold day in January, Idris never allowed the extended pack to let their guard down. Every day, Idris drilled all the werewolves who could fight in their defensive exercises. None complained. There was more than winter in the chill of the air, even here in this remote place. They all knew Dementors were abroad, and that he-we-don't-name controlled them. His power was increasing and they would resist. They would not be the weapons of the man who would enslave them! Idris had drilled more than defensive spells into them.

Even over Christmas, the routine never changed. At first, Conway and Jethro had complained, but Angharad explained to them how there was no real mid-winter celebration for the pack, no surfeit of food for such a feast. But the Whitby Werewolves sang Christmas carols anyway on Christmas Eve, and a surprising number of werewolves joined in. At the realisation that it was Christmas Eve, Idris had led Alphard away to his tent, and made love to him gently, remembering that Christmas Eve all those years ago and the gift it was to have each other once more.

Remembering it now, Alphard lay back on the bed to savour the glow he always felt, the throb in his body and reverberation in his magic, every time they made love. It had now been six months since Idris had Claimed Alphard as his own, and Alphard had finally found his place in the world. Not the privileged, glamorous world of which he had been part in Spain, of rich playboys in secluded villas; but of healer and teacher to a werewolf pack, living in a communal roundhouse in the most beautiful part of Wales – at least when it wasn't raining. And even when it was, the smell of the mountains and the forest in the rain seemed to revitalise all his senses.

Five full moons when Idris re-made his Claim before moonset. Five full moons when the great white dog ran with the wolves and watched them intently. It was almost perfect.

He had come to terms with the hateful meeting he'd had with Andy and Ted. Angharad had talked to him for hours of his shattered memories of his niece, replaced by the sour middle-aged woman. But he hadn't given up. Not fully. But he would wait before he tried to contact her again. He couldn't bear to be without those few remaining members of his family. Of course, he didn't count Narcissa. He knew what the Malfoys were, and he didn't want to go near that and what they would say to him of his relationship. And Bellatrix – well. It went without saying.

He summoned the box of mementoes that Sirius had given him, flicking through the contents. He smiled fondly at the photo of Idris and himself at school, but laid the photo aside. That was not the one he was looking for. There was a photo of his qualification as a healer in his pastel robes of the St. Teresa Hospital in Madrid. A wedding photo of Narcissa and the Malfoy boy (looking every inch as superior and unpleasant as Abraxas). Another one of Bellatrix and Lestrange: a society bonding ritual. Another school photograph (his year at Slytherin). A picture of the Slug Club. A wedding photo with a difference: Andy and Ted outside a Muggle register office in Gretna Green, with Alphard at Andy's side. He couldn't help smiling when he remembered how scandalised Walburga had been. He shuffled through them until … ah!

"The photograph holds them well."* He remembered the phrase, although not the poem it was from as he looked at the photo.

_Alphard, Walburga and Cygnus sit straight-backed on high back chairs in their most formal and ornate robes for this Black family portrait. Of the adults, only Alphard smiles. _Alphard remembered those robes – so heavy, they would bruise the clavicles, sometimes cut into the skin if one were too thin.

_In front of them, sit the children of two of the three siblings. _Alphard traced his fingers over them. _Regulus, trying to stand straight in his heavy green robe that matches his brother's and to look like an adult, as Sirius pokes him in the ribs and laughs at him as the swipe from Walburga's hand catches him on the backside. Narcissa, the only blonde in the family, smiles serenely at the camera, ignoring the misbehaving boys next to her, as Andy looks between the boys and the camera, trying to stifle a laugh. Bella. Bella at the end of the line, her hooded eyes and an 'only just lady-like' sneer making plain her distaste for her young cousins as she turns to the camera._

Of course, Walburga and Cygnus had kept the photographs where all the children were still and unsmiling for the camera; but Alphard chose this one, much to his sister's annoyance.

"_Trust you, Alphard. Always encouraging their bad behaviour. They are Blacks. They must learn how to behave."_

"_Can't you just let the boys have some fun, Walburga. It wouldn't hurt .."_

"_Wouldn't hurt! Wouldn't hurt? And where did having fun get us with you, my unmarried brother. Shame on the family, that's what! They need to learn that they have obligations. Life isn't about just them. They have to think of the family. Of the blood. Of wizarding kind."_

Even then, Alphard was sure the Darkness was beginning to unhinge her mind. Her reactions to everything were so explosive. The boys seemed to always hiss with pain if he hugged them. His own father, Pollux, had never spared the rod when he chastised Alphard himself, and he was sure, Walburga was the same with her own children.

But he was so fond of those boys. Sirius was always itching to get into trouble, and Regulus so wanted to be like his brother, but please his parents too.

He smiled sadly at the photograph. The world thought that Sirius had been the last of the Blacks. But no, it was he, Alphard Black. But it was the same thing, wasn't it? When he was gone, the family would be extinct in the male line. He placed all the photographs back in the box, feeling hurt that there was no-one after him who would want these mementoes.

Perhaps it was for the best, he thought grimly as he washed and dressed. Perhaps, the Blacks were just too damaged. He readied himself for the afternoon.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

He met Angharad and Stacy in a small clearing where they taught Stacy on his own. Angharad gave him that small smile that told him she understood he had been with Idris. It still caused Alphard a degree of embarrassment that she was so accepting of him in her relationship of so many years with Idris, and that she never complained but, conversely, seemed happy for them both. She was truly remarkable and he had come to love her very dearly.

He was sure that it was their easy relationship that enabled Stacy to trust him as he trusted Angharad, although the damaged man was still quite frightened of Idris. He and Angharad had concluded that Idris must resemble the man who had inflicted so much damage on Stacy and Idris always tried to steer clear of their lessons with him.

Work had been slow, but between them they had managed to teach Stacy to say many spells clearly enough to work and to control his magic. All he seemed to want to do was to conjure a Patronus and each lesson ended with Alphard and Angharad conjuring theirs for him to look at.

Today, Angharad had decided on a new strategy, although Alphard wasn't sure why she thought it was be effective.

"Change into your Animagus form," she said at the end of the lesson.

"Why?" asked Alphard softly.

"Because Stacy always tries to stroke the Patronus dog, but he can't. Perhaps this will encourage him. Show him how advanced magic can be."

Alphard still wasn't sure, but waited as Angharad said to Stacy, "Would you like to see a real dog, just like the silver one Alphard can make?"

Stacy's eyes widened, and he nodded furiously and sat on the floor, his face full of excitement as he clapped his hands together.

Alphard changed within seconds into the white shepherd dog, but whatever reaction Angharad had hoped for, they had not expected his abject terror.

"No!" he howled and threw himself protectively on the dog. "Alf! Come back, Alf! No! Mustn't. Mustn't do it! They hit you!" And he started to whimper and then burst out crying as Alphard changed back, patting the large man now holding him in his huge arms. He turned quickly to look at Angharad whose hands were covering her mouth in horror.

"Stacy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," Alphard said soothingly.

"Dad will beat you. Hurt you if turn into a wolf!" Stacy managed to blurt out in between huge, messy sobs. Alphard looked desperately at Angharad, who was stroking Stacy's back and crooning calming noises to him.

"No, Stacy, no. Your dad isn't here. No-one will hurt Alf," crooned Angharad.

"'Dris might hurt him," Stacy sobbed, still holding Alf, quite uncomfortably now. "He's our dad now an' he might beat him." He sniffed hugely. "For being a wolf."

Still stroking his back gently, Angharad said kindly, "You know we all become wolves, don't you, Stacy. At the moon?"

"Y-y-yes," the man stammered. "But mustn't when it's not the moon," Stacy shook his head violently. "Mustn't. Mustn't."

"But we don't become wolves when it's not the moon, Stacy," Angharad soothed. "Alf becomes a dog any time he wants because it's a different type of magic. A spell. Do you see?"

Stacy's sobbing was slowing now and he gradually released his hold on Alphard and patted his robe down clumsily, looking between Alphard and Angharad for reassurance.

"Any time?" Alf nodded.

"A spell?" Angharad nodded.

"I never learned a spell to be a wolf," Stacy said, suddenly mistrustful.

"None of us casts a spell to be a werewolf, Stacy. It was a curse passed to us," Angharad said gently. "We don't do a spell ourselves."

"But Alf," Stacy said slowly, pointing a large finger at Alphard, "can do a spell and be a dog?"

"That's right, Stacy," Alphard said, reassuringly.

"And 'Dris won't beat you? 'Bad dog!'" he mimed beating something with a stick.

"Never," both Alphard and Angharad affirmed together.

Stacy wiped his tears away with the palms of his hands and sniffed several times as he calmed down.

"Show me the dog, Alf," he finally said and Alf changed and sat before Stacy, who put his hand out and stroked the giant head of the dog.

"Pretty. Pretty," the big man mumbled and then turned sharply to Angharad, who still knelt next to him with her hand on his shoulder. "A spell?"

"Yes, a spell."

"Don't know the spell," Stacy said, shaking his head, his expression confused. "Bad Stacy." He slapped himself, and Angharad grabbed his hands between hers and Alphard nudged his nose into Stacy's hands. Stacy smiled crookedly at the dog and stroked its head again.

"Not a bad spell? No-one beat Alf?" he asked, his eyes never leaving the white dog.

"No, I promise," said Angharad.

Stacy became still and his eyes closed. Then, the air around him shimmered, and his body undulated then seemed to shimmer itself. The white dog backed away quickly and changed back, and Angharad gasped loudly as she pulled her hand away from the changing form.

A huge grey wolf sat before them, its eyes darting between them both, its change not as seamless as Alphard's but nothing like the full moon change either.

Alphard understood then: the father beating the wolf; the wolf that didn't just appear at full moon. Poor Stacy. Alphard understood it all and knelt before the wolf that was Stacy and scratched his scarred head and, soon after, Angharad did the same.

"Good boy," said Alphard, scratching the werewolf's coat. "Best boy." The tail of the wolf thumped on the ground in happiness as his surrogate parents hugged him, little knowing that at that very moment Alphard was wondering how to tell Idris that this man shared the power of the despised Vargulf. He exchanged knowing looks with Angharad as they petted the wolf together.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Idris sat at Alphard's desk, his hands trembling, as he stared from one mate to the other.

"He shifts as he pleases?" Idris murmured, trying to cover his growing feeling of nausea.

"Yes. I think that's why he was beaten so badly," Alphard rushed to explain. "It's not as quick as my change but it's not far off. There's no damage to him when he changes either way, I checked."

Angharad nodded, but still Idris just stared at both of them.

"Never known it in another. Only Vargulf. Because he was a brute," Idris spat. "But Stacy is no brute. I don't understand."

The three sat in silence for a while. Alphard eventually broke it.

"You said to me that Vargulf could become the wolf because he was so animalistic. I'm sure that's true. Perhaps also, because he embraced his werewolfism and never fought it – welcomed it even." Alphard stood and went to his boxes of notes that he had accumulated over these months. "You see, I've noticed that the born werewolves, the very young ones that is, barely react to the change. It's natural for them. Almost as if you fear pain, the expectation of pain makes it worse and ..."

"That happens in childbirth," Angharad chimed in excitedly. "The more the mother tenses, the worse it is! Stacy is like a small child in his mind!"

"Exactly!" Alphard exclaimed. "He doesn't really understand the nature of the curse, and his development is so stunted he accepts the change more than the rest of you. I've watched him when he's a wolf," Alphard rummaged and found the notes he'd compiled on Stacy, "and he's very different from his wizard form. He's confident and sure-footed, not clumsy at all. He plays with the other Whitbys as an equal. In fact," Alphard said, meeting Idris's hard gaze, "I would say, as wolves, Stacy is the dominant dog in the group."

Now both Idris and Angharad stared at him, understanding seeming to dawn on them (if not Alphard) why the group had no human Alpha.

"I think I understand what you're telling me," Idris said slowly. "Perhaps, I should see him."

"He's terrified of you," Angharad said quickly. "He thinks you're the father of the pack and you'll beat him."

Idris's mouth worked in anger. "I've never ... I would never." He breathed deeply and exhaled to calm himself, wondering in reality what he would have done had he seen Stacy transform without warning. He felt sick very suddenly, knowing his instinct, born of fear, would have been to attack him. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and then stood.

"I should see him. Angharad, get him for me and bring him to the place of your lessons. Alf, when we get to the clearing, will ye change for me when I ask?"

Idris and Alphard made their way to the clearing, and waited until Idris saw Angharad approaching with Stacy. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stacy notice him and stop with worry.

"Now, Alf," whispered Idris. With that, Alf transformed into the white dog and Idris petted his head and stroked his coat, ruffling his crest and speaking loud words of encouragement as the white dog fussed about him, licking his hands and face and wagging his tail. He saw Stacy edging forward in curiosity until he was on the edge of the clearing.

"It may have to be the stick. Sorry, Alf," Idris whispered and picked up a large stick and threw it. Alphard bounded after it and brought it back, in his human mind cursing Idris but only mildly. It was remarkable how much he enjoyed chasing the stick in his dog form. Alphard bark, a deep, booming noise, and Idris threw the stick again pretending not to notice Stacy clapping his hands together, or Angharad giving him a little nudge.

Alphard brought the stick back once more, and barked, and this time, Idris threw the stick further towards where Stacy was standing and he could see the man becoming alert, wanting to play. _Once more should do it,_ he thought.

When Idris threw the stick again, he saw the shimmer and quickly turned to see Stacy's form undulate and shimmer into the enormous grey wolf that then bounded to join Alphard chasing the stick.

"Dear God, he's huge!" Idris said, his eyes narrowing with horror, his palms sweating. He recovered quickly and whistled to both. Alphard played with the wolf for a while as they both went for the stick. Alphard made sure he only picked up one end so the other end would trail on the ground. As he hoped, the wolf picked up the other end and they both padded back to Idris.

"Good boys," Idris said, patting them both as Angharad came over. She knelt next to Stacy and put her arms around his neck and the wolf wagged his tail happily.

"Good boy, Stacy."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

It was like finding a long-lost key. Understanding that Stacy's nature had affixed itself to his wolf form when he was just a child seemed to open up the way for Angharad and Alphard to approach him, even using Alphard's dog form if Stacy became upset when he could not understand a theory or a wand movement. If Alphard transformed, so did Stacy and they would chase each other and play and it would calm Stacy down to try again.

Idris would come to watch as often as possible. This also seemed to calm Stacy: acceptance by the father figure of his changes seemed gradually to eradicate the cringing fear that overcame the man when in the Alpha's presence.

But, as delighted as Angharad and Alphard were by Stacy's progress, when they were alone, Idris would become withdrawn, lost in painful memories of the other wolf who changed at will. Alphard would soothe him with gentle words and touches until he drew him back from that world of terror and pain.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

With each of the five full moons that had passed, Alphard had kept copious notes of the wolves' changes and of their injuries.

He had lost one of his elderly patients at the third full moon, the internal injuries of the transformation so extensive that, by the time of reversion, there was just too much damage. When Alphard had reached him, he had died in his arms.

Alphard had proposed that perhaps the elderly werewolves could have Wolfsbane so that he could treat them in his human form without Idris fearing for his safety, but Idris would not hear of it. To him, Wolfsbane would make the transformation worse still. Alphard would have to make do with what they had. It didn't stop Alphard considering that he had failed.

He had taken the balms and medications Angharad had shown him that Seth Moore had created, and added variations with each month. What he was after was a potion that the werewolves could take to lessen the damage _happening,_ rather than treating the damage afterwards. He made adjustments with each full moon, noting all the changes and improvements as he went along. His latest potion did appear to have an appreciable effect on his remaining elderly patients. He had become quite excited that perhaps he had found the right base after all these experiments. He wasn't an apothecary, and sometimes he wished he knew how to contact this Seth Moore to discuss his ideas, but he was a creditable enough potioneer to make these slow advances.

His latest variation to his experiment he wanted to try was to use an ingredient that he was sure the wolves would tolerate well, having used his own canine nose and also Stacy to help him identify scent sensitivity of werewolves. The ingredient was a rare form of magical solanacae only found in South America that was supposed to aid flexibility of the joints and bones. He had ordered a crop by owl post and, if it proved successful in the potion, he would attempt to cultivate it on the land they used for farming.

Alphard was brimful of confidence and, in his excitement to collect the ingredient and make a start on his brewing, he left the encampment's protective enchantments instead of letting Botolph pick up his post from The Boar's Head. He Apparated outside the inn and strode purposefully to towards it, his brain buzzing with ideas for the brew.

So preoccupied was he that he didn't hear the man who crept up on him from the outbuildings near the inn, and was only just aware of the cry of "STUPEFY!" before the spell felled him.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to Smurny, rubyrosa and Aynslesa for your kind reviews.**

* A phrase from "Six Young Men", a poem by Ted Hughes ostensibly about the futility of war but actually about the fragility of life itself.


	10. The Hostage

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

This chapter dovetails with Chapter 87 of 'You Will Not Kiss Me'.

* * *

**Chapter 10: The Hostage**

Alphard was summoned awake by a spell. He knew that by the groggy feel he could not resist. He felt the remnants of healing warmth in his stomach. Had he been injured? He opened his eyes to find himself on a cot in a tent at wand-point. He looked at the face of the wizard who held him and found his eyes locked by the darkest eyes he had ever beheld: dark and seemingly dead in a sharp face with a hawk-like nose. He was unnerved, but hardly had time to try to get his bearings before the wizard spoke.

"Say nothing, do you hear me," hissed the wizard, a thin man, dressed in cloth as black as his hair and eyes. He reminded Alphard of a crow. Alphard nodded, backing away from him, his mind spinning on how he got here and why.

"Are you Alphard Black?" demanded the man. The question shocked Alphard and he nodded slowly. The wizard seemed to be as unnerved by Alphard as he was by the wizard although Alphard had no idea why that should be. He watched the man warily, the stupidity of his leaving the wards on his own hitting him with full force. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be Riddle's man and not a common or garden thief. What the man said next shocked him to his core.

"Under no circumstances tell my companions who you are. The consequences for you will be painful and lethal. Whatever I tell you to do, you must do it, even if you complain about it. Your life depends on me now. You don't know me, but Idris does. He knows me as Seth Moore ..."

"I've heard of you ..." Alphard interrupted, remembering the conversation with Dumbledore. So this was the double agent. Not Seth Moore – no, Snape. That was it - Snape.

"I said, say nothing," Snape hissed and then glanced up quickly and then removed some kind of spell, Alphard felt it, as they heard the men returning. He pointed his wand at Alphard once more.

"Oh. He's awake, is he? Who is he then, this lover-boy of Idris?" an ugly, gutteral voice commented.

Alphard stared at the man who spoke. Was it a man? It was certainly a werewolf; a werewolf of nightmares, all visible skin covered in hair and sharp teeth visible as he leered at him with the eyes of a wolf. Alphard's mouth dried out as he felt bile rise in his throat. He was sure this man must be Greyback.

"I didn't ask and, frankly, we don't need to know." Snape's eyes darted to Alphard briefly, but the tone he used to the others was commanding. "You will all keep your distance from him. He is a hostage, not a toy or a mugger's mark."

It was then that Alphard saw the three werewolves whom Idris had driven out after his Claiming: Jake, Uriah and Jude. None of them met his eyes as he stared at them in disgust, but seemed more concerned with what Snape and Greyback were doing. Snape sat next to the cot and Alphard felt a silencing charm take hold of him. He'd recognise those anywhere – one of his father's favourites before Alphard would be shut in the attic room.

"And I don't need to hear anything from you either, unnatural blood traitor!" snarled Snape, looking Alphard right in the eyes. "Lie down."

Alphard's eyes went wide with fear as he saw the three werewolves leer in expectation. He found himself wondering just how far Snape would go to keep his cover. "Do it!" Snape barked.

Alphard lay on the cot and was bound by Snape's _Incarcerous_, binding Alphard's wrists in front of him and his ankles together. Alphard breathed deeply, trying to control his fear. He had not been bound since he had left home at seventeen. He felt his heart hammer hard with remembered fear even as he heard Greyback grouse his bonds were not tight enough.

"Yes, I'm sure the Dark Lord would be delighted by the cuts and bruises of binding," sneered Snape. "He's not to be harmed. Why don't you people understand that?"

Alphard listened to the challenge in the growl in Greyback's throat and watched intently as the thin wizard didn't back down. No-one would think it to look at him, even as the anticipation of violence was clearly palpable. The large werewolf was afraid? No. Worried? Yes. Worried by Snape and backed down. In his months with the pack, he never would have expected to see a werewolf like Greyback acquiesce to a smaller man. Watching still, the thin man, Snape, may have been slight in stature, but he clearly carried weight.

"Good. We understand each other. Now. The message has to get to this Idris," Snape said. _So, it was to trap Idris!_ Alphard guts roiled with self-disgust as he listened to Snape making plans to deliver a ransom note by those craven cowards who had attacked him after the Claiming, as he tried to work the bonds Snape had tied him with. Snape hated his companions: it was so obvious as yet they took his orders, resenting him all the time.

His attention to the subtle movements he made trying unbind himself behind Snape's back was suddenly drawn away by what Greyback was now saying.

"There's history," Greyback muttered, "between me and him."

"I know," said Snape. "You held his mate hostage and challenged him to single combat. He thrashed you and so you butchered her …"

Alphard flinched with nausea at the confirmation that this was the werewolf who had raped and murdered Idris's mate and scarred Idris, not just facially, but emotionally too. He watched as Greyback lunged towards Snape, snarling with offence, but a quick and forceful repelling jinx sent him flying unceremoniously backwards. Snape was certainly a fast duellist, combative in actions and words.

"Let's not even pretend you're a match for me, Greyback," Snape sneered and then straightened and looked at them all as Greyback scrabbled to get back on his feet. "The question is: is it to our advantage that you and he have this history? He won't trust you, that's for sure."

Alphard listened to them planning what sounded like an exchange. He prayed Idris wouldn't consider such a thing and he began to twist in his bonds, trying to protest, but the silencing charm held.

"Exchange? I would imagine none," said Snape lightly. "Nevertheless, it is what we'll ask for. We need to get Idris out of the wards, then we can trap him, but he must not be hurt. The Dark Lord has forbidden any harm to come to him. I expect it will come to a battle, so your reinforcements better be up to it."

"Against a bunch of mountain werewolves?" Greyback sneered. "My pack will easily overcome them. And with Dementors too, they ain't got no chance."

_Dear sweet Merlin!_ Alphard thought with horror. They were planning a battle! With himself as the bait and catalyst.

"These beasts are notoriously sentimental and weak about their mates, are they not, Greyback?" asked Snape, snidely. Alphard couldn't help wonder if he was right about the identity of this man. He certainly was an extraordinary actor if it was true he had a werewolf mate.

The wolf-man grimaced, exposing his sharp teeth once more. "It is a weakness of our kind. Others – wolves who want to be strong – take no mate."

"And scorn those that do, no doubt," Snape commented.

"Ties. Bonds," sneered Greyback. "Those connections have those names for a reason. I just take what I need."

Snape nodded, saying, "So we try for a direct swap first. When that fails, as it so assuredly will, some judicious evidence of torture I am sure will bring Idris out, no doubt with his pack."

The wolf-man laughed chestily, and the other scruffy wizard leered at Alphard. _Yes, quite the actor._ Alphard struggled to sit up. He damn well wasn't going to lie down to be tortured: he was still a Black, after all.

"You said the queer wasn't to be harmed, but now ..." Jake, ever the coward, squealed.

"Oh, old Snape knows how never to leave a mark," Greyback chuckled unpleasantly, his eyes holding a glint of appreciation as he leered at Alphard. "Very controlled in his torture, is Snape."

Alphard stared as Snape arrogantly held up a hand in acknowledgement. "I do what is needed to achieve the results required. I leave torture as a sport to others." Snape tilted his head towards Greyback, in deference. The other wizard snorted. Alphard felt a chill in his soul. _Just what kind of people are they?_

Snape wrote out a note, and Alphard was sure he had used a charm on it, but he noticed Snape did it so the others would not see. Then Snape turned to Alphard and turned his wand on him. Alphard's eyes widened in fear and he thrashed to get free, but a small cutting curse was sent to Alphard's thumb and then Snape pressed the parchment to his blood.

"Your ... _mate_ ... will recognise your blood, I think," Snape said unkindly, but he healed the cut immediately with a small gesture unnoticed by the others.

What would Idris think to receive his blood in a note? Alphard screwed his eyes shut. Idris would recognise it – he would smell him. Oh dear Merlin, this man meant to infuriate him. Alphard cursed Snape under his breath, but cursed himself more for his helplessness as they all waited.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

In the chill of the January morning, Idris was overseeing the count of their overwintering stores with some of the older werewolves, when Angharad came to find him, Stacy beside her, as ever. She drew him aside, with a gentle pull, but Idris saw concern – no – fear in her eyes.

"Stacy an' me have been waiting for Alf for lessons, an' he hasn't come," she whispered frantically. "We've looked all around the camp for him." She shook her head. "Idris, I'm worried. I think he's gone out on his own."

Idris felt his blood run cold. No-one was to leave the camp without an escort; that had been his rule since he knew Riddle had returned, and certainly neither of his mates nor his children.

"Definitely? Ye've checked all over the camp?" he asked, gruffly, trying to cover his almost instant panic that fluttered in his gut.

"Yes," she nodded quickly. "Stacy changed to follow his scent. He lost it at the boundary. He says Alf was on his own."

"No!" gasped Idris, his eyes widened. He rushed to one of the small tents where the Whitby Werewolves camped, and grabbed Botolph from his place round the fire by his robes.

"It's your job to watch him!" snarled Idris.

Botolph panicked in the Alpha's grasp, twisting to try to get free.

"What? What have I done?" he yelped, turning his face from Idris, his eyes huge in fear.

"Alf's left the camp, and it's your job to get what he needs so he doesn't."

"I didn't know! It's still so early. Please! Please! I don't normally go to the inn until later. Please!" Botolph sounded as if he would cry at the accusations of failure as his hands clawed helplessly at the Alpha's iron grip. Angharad grabbed Idris's arm.

"Please, Idris. If Alf went without telling him, what could he do? Please." Her voice was a soothing as she could make it. "Let's set about finding him." She gently pulled on his arm again.

Idris breathed deeply, still staring at Botolph in anger but willing himself to control it. _Not now. Now was not the time._ A few more deep regulating breaths and then he pushed the man away from him.

"Find my sons and my Betas. Bring them to me," he growled.

Botolph nodded, and ran, his body still shaking as the other Whitby Werewolves looked at Idris's face, and then ran after him.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

After the other four had been despatched to deliver the note, Snape ordered Jude to keep watch outside then cast a charm Alphard did not recognise and then he felt the silencing charm lift once more.

"We need to be quick. There'll be little time," Snape said urgently. "The Dark Lord wants Idris as his wandmaker ..."

"Hasn't Riddle done enough to us?" Alphard snapped, his stomach flipping with anger and fear that, after all these years, Riddle sought to ruin everything once more.

"There is always room for more cruelty in the Dark Lord, Alphard Black," Snape said quietly, seeming to map Alphard's face in a way Alphard found much too curious. "We are here by the Dark Lord's command and you are seen as Idris's weakness."

"Idris won't give himself up. He didn't before; he won't now," Alphard said proudly, although not fully believing it. No, he was sure – sure that Idris would do nothing to endanger his pack. "And I don't expect him to."

Snape regarded Alphard for what seemed like a long time. It confused Alphard that the man seemed to be analysing him all the time.

"I don't know why I'm surprised this tactic is being tried again," Snape eventually continued. "He sees no other way to get what he wants and, believe me, he wants your mate as his wandmaker."

"Do you know our story? How Idris was Turned? How many years ago that was?"

"I do," confirmed Snape. "Before, it was to arm the werewolves loyal to him. Now, the Dark Lord needs a wandmaker because his wand fails him. It is now a very personal – ah – acquisition," said Snape, speaking quickly as he checked on Jude's whereabouts. "It is, of course, vital that he does not _acquire_ Idris. I must do all I can to look as if I wish to achieve it, whilst ensuring it fails."

"Why do you not name him?" Alphard whispered harshly, disconcerted by the reverence with which Snape spoke Riddle's adopted alias, as Snape fiddled with the ties around Alphard's wrists.

The wizard inhaled sharply as if stung and his eyes flicked to what appeared to be part of a dark tattoo just visible from his sleeve cuff. "He would know. He has a Taboo Curse in this brand I bear to give him knowledge of traitors."

Alphard heard the fear in Snape's voice for the first time, and was intrigued. A blood brand! It was rare dark magic and he leant forward to look but Snape snatched his arm away.

"No time. Now, listen. I have loosened your bonds. Your wand is in my left cloak pocket. I'm working blind to an extent but I hope I have got a message to Idris. They should be surrounding our position. At the first sign of attack, push me and take your wand. Then you must Disapparate. Do nothing else. Disapparate and get back behind the wards of the camp."

"What will you do then?" asked Alphard, as he tested the flexibility of his bonds, a small tremble now in his hands from the excitement that Snape would assist him in an escape.

"You needn't concern yourself with that. Just get yourself back to the camp so Idris isn't handicapped."

"What do you mean: handicapped?" Alphard asked harshly, offended to be seen as a handicap to the man he loved so very dearly.

"From fighting, of course. If you're held hostage, it will handicap him. If you're with him, he can lead properly. Idris and his pack need to fight and thrash Greyback once and for all, do you see?"

"Yes," Alphard nodded. He couldn't deny the truth of it. Then he heard the men returning and lay back on the cot. "Good luck," he wished Snape, understanding that may not have another chance to talk again to this strange, expressionless man who now sat by the cot, protecting him, he knew.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Geraint and Gareth, Idris's oldest sons by Megan, reached him first, quickly followed by Bronwen's sons, Ieuan, Iolo and Medwyn. Within minutes, Idris's three most trusted Betas had joined him too.

Steadying his nerves, and keeping Angharad to his side, he arranged search parties to fan out from certain points of the perimeter. As he planned with them, Angharad squeezed his arm.

"You don't know for sure something bad has happened ..."

Idris turned to her, his dark eyes glittered with fear.

"I cannot describe it, dear one. But I feel it ..."

Just then, a shout went up from Medwyn.

"It's Remus Lupin!"

Idris and Angharad spun to see Lupin coming through the tents towards them, clearly badly injured but brushing aside attempts to assist him until he stood before Idris.

"I've come to warn you," Lupin gasped breathlessly, holding his arm around his ribs. "Voldemort has sent Greyback to Snowdon. He's coming for you ... through your mate."

"Dear God," Idris rasped, cold terror clutching his heart as his irrational fear became real and he pulled Angharad into a fierce embrace.

/

_At the height of the last wizards' war, Fenrir Greyback had captured Bronwen as she and others had brought in the crop of apples. Greyback's pack of werewolves had beaten the ten others she had been with and sent them back, battered and bloody, to their own Alpha with the message: "Submit to me."_

_Greyback. Fenrir, the young wolf who had been Vargulf's lieutenant, keeping watch over Idris as he had pretended to work on the wands for Riddle. The news had come with the running wolves ten years before that war that Greyback had fought Vargulf to the death to be leader of his pack, and like the conquered werewolf, had offered his services to Riddle._

_Bronwen, beautiful and dark – he had waited fifteen years to take another mate after Megan died, he had felt her death so dreadfully. The pack demanded he be mated, to lead by example. This woman was strong and loving and they had formed a deep bond._

_Then Greyback came. Back to do Riddle's dirty work._

_Idris had sent word back. He would fight him in the proper wolf manner. No wands. Hand to hand combat. If Greyback lost, he would release Bronwen unharmed. If Greyback conquered Idris, he would submit. That was the wolves' way; there was no reason to believe Greyback would renege. Agreement came back from his messenger._

_In the large clearing at the base of the mountain, they met. Each Alpha's pack was ranged behind their champion, their wands surrendered symbolically to their most trusted Beta. The two men, giants of their type circled each other, growling as their wolfish nature overcame them._

_Within a heartbeat of each other, they charged at each other, like raging bulls, large hands grasping trying to pull the other man off balance to land a blow. Each man stomped the ground for purchase as they grappled with each other, their strong fingers gouging each other's skin until Idris managed to hook his leg behind Greyback's and drop him onto the ground, dropping to his own knees to pull back his fist to land the first real blow._

_Greyback managed to pull up his leg and boot Idris in the face, splitting his lips, and sending him flying backwards. In the time that Greyback had scrambled to his feet, Idris had righted himself and they flew at his each other once more, but this time, Idris pounded the side of Greyback's head in an almighty punch that clearly stunned him as his legs seemed to fail him._

_It was time to capitalise: h__efty punch after hefty punch followed, up and under Greyback's ribs, each punch expelled air and blood from Greyback as his body jarred with the force and swayed with semi-consciousness. With the tenth blow, something seemed to galvanise Greyback and he suddenly lashed out, grasping Idris's face with a clawed hand and raked his fingers into the soft skin of his face as hard as he could._

_Idris uttered a strangled cry at the searing pain and head-butted Greyback, exploding his nose as the blood sprayed across his face and with one final enormous effort, Idris landed a powerful punch to Greyback's cheekbone with a sickening crack, and then powered a double fist onto Greyback's back, pummelling him to the floor._

"_D'ye submit? Do ye?" Idris growled between ragged breaths._

"_Yes," Greyback mumbled, the sound only just recognisable through his shattered facial mask._

"_For your pack to hear ..."_

_Greyback managed to raise his hand in a recognised gesture of submission and issue a strangulated, "Submit!"_

_An angry, triumphant shout went up from the Snowdon werewolves as Idris stumbled back from his conquest. Wiping the back of his hand against the bloody gouges across his face, he watched, his hands planted on his knees, his breath hitching hugely as Greyback dragged himself away and his Beta dragged him up and they Disapparated. Greyback's pack followed and Idris turned unsteadily to where he knew Bronwen had been kept._

_As he turned, Gareth and Geraint came running towards him from the outbuilding._

"_No Da! Don't go there!" cried Geraint, grabbing his father's upper arms. "Dear God, Da, don't!" Gareth tried to restrain him, but Idris, still pumped full of adrenaline of the fight and to deal with the pain, shrugged the fully grown twins from him as if they were children again._

"_What? Where is she?" he grunted as he ran unsteadily and heavily to the run-down barn and staggered through the doors._

_The straw had soaked up so much blood, but he still saw how much blood she had lost, from her throat and between her legs. The cry that ripped from his throat as he threw himself next to her was anguish and guilt and horror combined that her last hours on this earth had been this. He grasped her bloodless, lifeless form to himself and howled as if he was the wolf, the bay of tortured grief of life viciously and untimely ripped away._

/

The scars across his face now seemed to throb with remembered pain as he held Angharad close, the memory returned as bright and sharp as if it happened yesterday. He held Angharad to arm's length to look at her, as if imprinting her features.

"Not this time!" he growled. "This time, I'll kill him – and anyone who stands with him."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

The reconnaissance teams set out with Idris's adult sons and Betas in the lead with instructions to scout around the territory, noting any defences, places of ambush and best vantage points.

Although injured, Lupin insisted on teaching each of the teams a revealing charm before they left for the existence of repelling wards. Even if they could not get through, they would at least know the co-ordinates of any of Greyback's pack who might be hiding and could report back.

As soon as they had gone, Angharad rushed to Lupin's side and Idris took the other side and they took him to Alphard's tent.

"Tell me everything!" Idris growled, ignoring the look of irritation Angharad gave him as she healed the cuts and bruises to Lupin's face.

"It's all right, Angharad," said Lupin, but then hissed in pain has she felt his ribs. She managed to remove his cloak and robe without too much trouble, but spelled away his shirt and grimaced at the bruises beginning to blossom around his ribs and stomach, noting also the extensive scarring to his body, beyond any scarring she had seen before, even as a werewolf herself. Her brow furrowed. Under any other circumstances, she would ask, but now was not the time.

"Is it safe to speak here? Will we be overheard?" Lupin asked, hitching occasionally as Angharad worked on healing his ribs with soft incantations.

"Aye," Idris said, "strong charms on this tent." His jaw worked with impatience as he waited to hear. "Get on with it, boy!"

"You know my mate, Seth Moore?"

Idris nodded. Lupin scraped his fingers through his hair, clearly agitated to impart this information.

"He is not a tutor in Barmouth, he is ..."

"Severus Snape, Dumbledore's spy in the service of Riddle," Idris finished impatiently.

"How do you know?" Lupin yelped, his face a mask of sheer terror, jumping away from Angharad, although clearly still in pain. "Who told you?"

"Dumbledore told us, months ago," Idris said. "Is this who has given ye this information?"

"Dumbledore ... why the hell would Dumbledore do that? Dear God! What was he thinking?" Lupin cried, looking scared witless. "Who knows? Who else here knows?"

Idris saw in that instant that Lupin was as terrified for his mate as Idris was for his own and strode forward and grabbed Lupin's shoulders hard.

"He made us swear to tell no-one. The secret is safe. Calm down! Tell me what we need to know."

Lupin blinked, clearly thinking furiously, and then nodded and allowed himself to be led back to a stool by Angharad to finish working on his ribs.

"Don't call him his name. I beg you. He'll be killed if Voldemort finds out."

Idris could do nothing other than empathise with Lupin, clearly living in terror all the time.

"Please," Idris said as gently as he was able, pushing down his own fear and anger. "Tell me what Seth Moore told ye."

Lupin seemed to flag with relief on the stool when he heard the alias.

"He called me a couple of hours ago to warn you. I tried to leave the werewolves I was with." Lupin closed his eyes and Idris saw how much the effort of talking was still costing him. "They stopped me." He indicated his injuries. "I tried to get here sooner. I'm sorry."

Idris indicated for him to carry on. Lupin told him that Snape was to accompany Greyback to ensure Greyback did not hurt Idris's mate this time.

"Se ... Seth says you must not fight Greyback one-to-one again. Greyback has no idea how many werewolves are in your pack. If the packs were to fight, Greyback would be so badly defeated that ..."

"Da! Da!" Iolo shouted from the perimeter and Idris's heart leapt and, Lupin forgotten, he ran from the tent to the perimeter and then just outside where Iolo and two others held a scruffy wizard and ... no, it couldn't be ... Uriah!

Idris started to snarl at the werewolf he had expelled, but Iolo held him back.

"It's a note, Da."

He thrust the oddly folded parchment at Idris, who stared at it as if it would explode as a coppery tang hit his nose. He recognised Alphard's smell in the blood that was in this note. He unfolded it.

_Idris, alpha of the Snowdon pack._

_We have the wizard, Alf. If you want him to live, you will give yourself up to me at noon today. _

_The Dark Lord commands it._

With every word, Idris felt his fear grind deeper into his soul, colder and colder still, his eyes drawn back to the blood stain on the parchment. Riddle would take Alphard away from him once more.

Idris looked up at Uriah, his eyes full of malice.

"I should kill ye, ye little ..."

The scruffy wizard swaggered, although his wand was held by Iolo. "I don't think so, not as we've got your mate holed up with one of the Dark Lord's finest torturers."

Idris's eyes widened as they snapped to the wizard. Then, in a flash, Idris grabbed him and threw him through the enchantments.

"You! Scavenger!" Idris spat at Uriah. "Get back to yer torturer! Tell him our messenger will come."

Uriah scarpered towards the trees, and Idris saw two others trying to conceal themselves there. His jaw tightened and his mouth turned downwards in anger and disgust as he fleetingly saw the form of Greyback disappear from view.

He turned and bore down on the scruffy wizard who was trying to scrabble away from the advancing Alpha, but Idris lunged and pulled him up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him, kicking and jabbering threats to the tent where Lupin followed.

"Give me the parchment," asked Lupin firmly.

Idris released it into Lupin's grasp as he bound the scruffy wizard harshly to a chair, knowing the bindings were cutting into the wizard's skin.

"Torturer, is it? Why don't ye just tell me about this torturer then?" he snarled.

"Idris. Please. I have to talk to you. Privately," Lupin whispered, grabbing Idris's wand arm.

Idris shoved Lupin away.

"Well?" Idris growled. "Tell me."

The wizard jutted his jaw out in defiance, doing his best to leer at Idris, even though Idris could smell his abject fear.

"Severus Snape. Right skilled he is. Known for it. And hates your kind with a passion," the wizard sneered.

"STUPEFY!" cried Lupin, and the wizard slumped in his bonds. "For Merlin's sake, listen to me, Idris!"

Idris rounded on Lupin, his wand now pointed towards him.

"'Right skilled' he called 'im!" Idris shouted. "A torturer! What are ye playin' at, Remus Lupin?"

"Will you listen to me?" Lupin yelled, one hand outstretched in a pacific gesture and the other holding out the parchment. "There are notes here. Directions!"

Idris growled deep in his throat and made to lunge, but, suddenly, Angharad interposed herself between them, one hand pushing into each man's chest. Her mate looked her at in shock.

"Ye must listen, Idris. At least hear him out," she said, her voice sounding strained and clearly near to tears.

"Not in front of him," Lupin pleaded, gesturing at the Stupefied wizard. "Move him please."

Idris glared at Lupin and the nodded, and called two of his sons in to remove the wizard, still bound to the chair.

Slowly, Lupin lowered his hands shakily and then smoothed out the parchment on Alphard's desk.

"Watch now," he said, raising his wand. He muttered an incantation and more of the jagged writing appeared, giving co-ordinates for where they were hiding, how many were there and how many expected.

"He will not harm your mate. I promise you."

"He has already!" Idris exclaimed, picking up the parchment and shaking it in Lupin's face. "That's Alf's blood. I can smell it!"

Lupin's already pale face drained as he looked at it again. He couldn't deny it was blood, or that Idris would know the scent of his mate's blood. Lupin exhaled heavily, and Angharad moved between them once more.

"It's a small amount, just a scratch I'm sure ..."

"IT REEKS OF FEAR!" Idris roared, grabbing Lupin's collar, yanking him towards himself until they were nose to nose, Idris's dark eyes glittering with fear.

Lupin did not retaliate, and Idris saw his eyes shining. He could smell Lupin was not scared of him. No, he was drowning Idris in protective scents, wanting to protect his own mate, begging him to understand they were in the same boat.

"Ach!" Idris hissed and pushed Lupin away from him. Lupin steadied himself, breathing deeply.

"Seth is a consummate spy," said Lupin softly. "Greyback will be convinced that he is on their side. They will have perfect confidence in him ..."

"As ye do," Idris interrupted, his expression shrewd.

"I know the truth of my mate, Idris. Do not think for one moment I do not," Lupin said, for the first time riled and challenging. "Hear me out."

Angharad squeezed his arm again and Idris nodded.

"I'm sure Alf – is it?" They both nodded. "I'm sure Alf is scared, but I promise you, Seth will only do enough to _appear_ to hurt him. He is accomplished at this form of dissembling. He rescued me from Voldemort's head quarters from under Voldemort's nose, for Merlin's sake, by lies and Glamours. I beg you to trust us. He has a plan for Alf to escape to you."

Idris listened to the earnest werewolf. He knew Lupin was not lying, but this mate of his, to be spoken of so – it worried him. That blood on the parchment – it assailed his nose – smelling the fear of his beautiful Alf was almost more than he could bear. But then, Lupin had revealed the extra writing, clearly concealed from the messengers. And there was no doubting the reality of injuries that Lupin himself had borne to get himself here to warn them.

"All right then," he said gruffly.

He watched as Lupin relaxed visibly and then Lupin outlined how Snape had suggested a full-on battle. Greyback did not know how large the Snowdon pack had grown. The smaller pack of Greyback could easily be defeated and a resounding defeat would ensure Greyback would not return to fight an unknown entity. Failure to acquire Idris would be punished severely by Riddle and, on a calculated guess, Riddle would look elsewhere. Idris knew it was true. There had to be such a terrible defeat that their eyes would not look to Snowdon again. He grunted in agreement.

"But I want to make a change to the plan," Lupin said softly. Idris's eyebrows rose.

"It isn't only Greyback who will be punished by Voldemort when Alf escapes."

"So will Seth Moore?" Angharad supplied softly, nodding her understanding, her soft brown eyes watching Lupin with pity.

"I want to arrange it so no blame falls on him." Lupin swallowed audibly. "You have no idea what Voldemort does to him – how he is tortured ... I can't let it happen ... I just can't ..."

Angharad grasped his elbow and led him back to the stool on which she had treated him.

"Do you have an alternative plan?" asked Idris.

"Invite them to parley somewhere enclosed. Seth will never agree to that because he wants Alf to escape. He will choose the clearing, as in his original plan. Ambush them, so Alf can escape and we take Seth prisoner at the same time. Greyback will never expect it. He assumes you will be as honourable as you were ... before." Lupin's eyes were apologetic when he said this. "Then challenge them to battle. Greyback won't dare refuse if he thinks he can win Seth back. If he loses the battle and returns without either you or Seth, Voldemort will kill him. Seth ... well, let's say, he is useful to him. Voldemort would never allow him to be held by werewolves."

"But I have no intention of losing in battle," Idris rumbled.

"Oh no! You _must_ win. But Seth will escape during the tumult, suitably scathed, and he shall be the one to inform Voldemort of the defeat."

"And ensure Greyback's punishment," sneered Idris.

"Yes," Lupin replied simply.

Idris regarded Lupin once more, seemingly so mild-mannered but a fine wizard who had trained the pack to produce Patronuses. He saw the hardness in the eyes in the prematurely lined face. And then he remembered just who Greyback was to Remus Lupin: the man who had Turned a five year old child.

"If I don't kill him, o' course," said Idris, with a half smile.

"If you don't kill him," agreed Lupin, smiling tightly in return.

"Very well."

Idris left the tent and went to the main clearing. The reconnaissance parties had returned and waited to report.

"TO ME!" he roared. "NOW! ALL OF YE! TO ME!"

It was only a matter of minutes before the enlarged pack mustered before their Alpha and he set out Remus Lupin's plan.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~AB~IL~ AB~IL

Over the next hour, and after he had taken the reports of the scouting groups, Idris picked those werewolves most skilled in fighting to be part of Lupin's small ambush groups and instructed them where they were to place themselves and then he instructed Ieuan on creating the diversion that would start the ambush. He drilled the groups several times to act only on the commands given.

"Need someone to go with a message to get 'em out in the open," Idris announced.

Botolph stepped forward immediately to Idris's surprise.

"Me. It should be me," he said, sticking out his chin stubbornly. When Idris raised his eyebrows questioningly, the werewolf said, "Please, it was my fault. It should be me."

Idris felt no small amount of shame. Of course, it hadn't been Botolph's fault, but he had shamed the man into guilt through his own terror.

"Ye don't have to ..."

"I want to. I'm part of this pack too." Botolph said stubbornly.

Idris looked at him appraisingly and resolved. "That ye are, Botolph. Our messenger. Go an' see Remus Lupin for the message and what to do."

Within five minutes, Botolph returned, accompanied by Lupin and Angharad, and they were ready to move out.

Lupin made to join them, but Idris held him back.

"It's best ye stay behind. Look to that wizard." He gestured to the wizard, still unconscious and bound.

"I want to make sure Seth ..." Lupin began to demand.

"And that's the point, isn't it?" Idris said, as kindly as he could manage. "Ye want a realistic diversion? It's best ye stay behind. Anyway, Angharad says ye're not fit to fight yet."

Lupin moved forward to object, but Idris blocked him, and shook his head slowly.

Angharad moved forward and held onto Lupin's arms.

"Come, Remus Lupin. Seth Moore will be with ye soon. Let Idris do what he needs."

Idris watched as she led him away, knowing how it must be hurting him to let go, even though Lupin knew he had to if Idris to carry the day.

They moved out, stealthily moving through the forests they knew like the backs on their hands, fanning out to take their assigned positions around the clearing and where the note said they had set up their encampment. Once they were all in their position, they signalled to Idris their readiness. Then they saw werewolves Apparating into the clearing. Idris counted them off. Lupin was right. The Snowdon pack easily outnumbered them.

Then, a terrible chill descended, and settled on everyone like a mantle of desperation and Idris's fear increased and his mind rang with memories of his father calling a filthy half-breed beast as he ran him off the land below. He rammed his head into his hands in despair, but then felt it ease gradually. Lupin had warned of these soul demons, these Dementors. They had had a taste of it now. Best to be prepared. He would know that coldness if it came again. He nodded to Botolph, who set off, seemingly alone, but with thirty wands covering his progress.

AB~IL~ AB~IL~AB~IL~ AB~IL

Alphard waited nervously. Snape was like a statue sitting in the chair in front of him, only moving once to give him a drink of water. After what seemed to be an interminable length of time, he heard cracks of Apparition and knew this must be Greyback's pack. He couldn't help the wave of nausea he felt.

Then that was forgotten when he suddenly felt the chill in his bones, sliding into his soul, his fear forgotten as desolation crawled over him, and his terrible memories of his father's cruelty, being dragged to the attic room at only three years of age, his desperate cries for Idris outside that farm all surfaced in his mind, unbidden and unwanted.

"Get them back," Snape snarled at Greyback. They groused at each other, as Alphard tried to fight away the feeling of despair that threatened to overwhelm him that he would lose Idris again, be alone again ...

Grumbling, Greyback left the tent and shouted orders and gradually the dread chill lifted and Alphard felt the constriction in his chest lifting as the soul demons must have moved away.

Then there were shouts. Someone had come.

Snape leapt up, his wand pointing at Alphard as his finger pressed to his lips for silence at Alphard's questioning look. Greyback came bustling through the tent, with Botolph held roughly by one arm with the flag of truce. Alphard started forward so Botolph could see he was unharmed.

"Stay put!" Snape barked at him then he turned back to Botolph. "Who are you?"

"I'm Idris's messenger, Botolph." Alphard heard the tremor in his voice. Poor man! He was terrified. Why send him? "He wants to talk terms with you."

Greyback sniggered. "Terms, is it? Terms for the return of lover-boy."

"That's quite enough," Snape snapped. "Where and when."

"In the inn down there. Now."

"I can't leave the hostage," Snape stated. "The Dark Lord's order."

He heard Greyback grunt.

"You think I can't be trusted."

"I know you can't, _werewolf._ You have form," Snape said, his own lip curling. "I think the inn is dangerous. The clearing just outside the wards will do. Out in the open so everyone can see, and bring the hostage so I can keep an eye on him and Idris will see he's unharmed. Go back to your Alpha. Tell him that."

Botolph nodded quickly and almost ran from the tent. Alphard heard the cruel laughter of the werewolves outside and hoped desperately Botolph would get away safely.

"Come!" Snape grasped Alphard's upper arm and dragged him to his feet. "Keep quiet and do as you're told and you may yet make it back to your mate."

Alphard stared hard at Snape, still sure he meant to help Alphard escape, but confused at his ease of dissembling. Snape pretended to tighten the bonds on Alphard's wrists, but actually loosened them, and then unbound his ankles. Yes, he was sure now. Now was the time, as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

"You go ahead of me, Greyback. Make sure your pack watches our backs."

Greyback grunted in acknowledgement and Alphard was pushed ahead by the tip of Snape's wand, leaving the tent for the first time and blinking fast in the low winter sunlight. Dozens of werewolves sat and stood around small fires and Alphard felt Snape tense behind him. He was as scared as Alphard, he was sure.

They walked slowly, almost casually, forward through the protective enchantments and on to the centre of the clearing where Idris stood with Botolph, flanked by Gareth and Geraint, their wands at the ready.

Alphard's heart leapt again to see Idris, although he had never seen his brow so furrowed, anger radiating from him. Idris looked right at him and Alphard nodded imperceptibly, hoping Idris saw he was fine. He saw Idris's eyes slide to Greyback and his expression become harder still.

The tension in the air was palpable. Then a hex flew past his ear and knocked Snape down.

This was it!

Hearing Greyback shout to his pack, Alphard leapt forward and grabbed Snape's cloak and fished out his wand and as soon as he had it, he twisted and Disapparated.

Idris saw Alphard go amongst the flying curses, and the constriction on his heart eased and he plunged forward towards the stricken figure in black. Heaven knew, that figure bore no resemblance to Seth Moore but Lupin had told him he was dark haired and slim but, if in doubt, to check for a branding tattoo on his left forearm.

As he rushed forward, so all the bands of strategically placed werewolves came out of hiding and engaged Greyback and his werewolves in fierce duelling. This was by no means all the pack. Now was not the time to give the game away, but these were Idris's very best, most aggressive fighters and they soon commanded the attention of Greyback's werewolves as all fought savagely, the air crackling with magic.

Idris got to Snape just as he struggled to his feet, and he lashed out, punching him in the throat to incapacitate him. Snape fell heavily on all fours, his wand dropping by his side. Idris recognised the wand at once and grabbed it, shoving it into his own belt. This was his mark and he'd better make the capture believable. It was easy enough. All he had to do was remember the reek of fear in that blood and he kicked Snape high and hard so he fell on his back, winded.

Medwyn rushed forward and pulled up the sleeve. "He's got the evil brand!"

Idris watched as Snape searched for his wand with his outstretched hand, even as he struggled to breathe. Idris dropped onto his knees over Snape's thin body, catching his scent now, knowing it was Seth Moore for sure. He grabbed the black hair and pointed his wand at Snape's heart, getting a primeval thrill from the terror that suddenly emanated from the wizard.

He remembered the blood and his face became terrible.

"And just how valuable will ye be to Tom Riddle, I wonder ..." he growled through his gritted teeth," ... Severus Snape."

Idris bound Snape's wrists and then pulled Snape roughly to his feet, as his sons covered him with their wands.

"STAND DOWN!" Idris bellowed over the wand-fire. "STAND DOWN AND HEAR ME!"

"STOP!" barked Greyback, his hand raised in command, as he watched Idris through narrowed eyes, taking in the sight of Snape bound and breathing hard, in pain. "STOP, I SAID, YOU SCUM!"

Slowly, the various duellists ceased throwing curses and, wands still trained on their opponents, they moved away, each drawing their own battle lines.

"Now who has the hostage, Greyback?" bellowed Idris, his wand at Snape's throat. "What will yer precious Dark Lord think of this?"

Greyback snarled and Idris curled his lip. He could see Greyback's bluff now.

"Ye want him, Greyback? Yer pack against mine. Here. Tomorrow at noon."

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**Thanks to Smurny for reviewing. **

**A couple of reviewers to YWNKM mentioned they are still reading this. Drop the story a little review if you're enjoying it – just so I know! Thank you.**

**Please read & review.**


	11. The Eve of Battle

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

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Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

This chapter dovetails with Chapter 88 of 'You Will Not Kiss Me', but from Idris and Alphard's points of view.

(I meant to post this last weekend. Forgive me, I had a stinker of a cold and I forgot, but the Battle follows and will be ready to post this weekend.)

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**Chapter 11: The Eve of Battle**

Alphard staggered out of his Apparition at the wards. No sooner had he ceased turning than Stacy, Spindle, Freddie and Conway were at his side, accompanying him back inside the wards with their wands drawn, Botolph, Jethro and Zebedee covering them them. As they strode through the encampment, Conway breathlessly filled Alphard in on as much as he knew of the plan and then suddenly Alphard found Angharad in his arms.

"Dearest Alf!" she cried. "I've been so worried for ye. Are ye hurt?"

She pushed herself out of his arms, her hands fluttering over his face and chest, searching for wounds.

"I'm fine. I promise, dear heart, I'm fine," he said, picking up her hands and kissing her fingers.

He spied through the opening of one the tents the wizard who had gone with Uriah to deliver the message. He was tied to a chair and unconscious. Alphard strode to him and cast to revive him and watched with grim satisfaction to see the man's eyes widen in fear and incomprehension.

"Anything to say to me now?" Alphard said, disdainfully.

The man shook his head quickly and looked down.

Alphard's jaw worked, suddenly recalling all the foul, Dark curses his father had at his disposal when Alphard was a boy. He had learnt at his father's knee ways to hurt this man to the exquisite limits and leave no marks – things that a wretch like this could barely comprehend. Alphard's eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.

And, for the first time in his life, he wanted to use them now.

"Alf. Come away. Leave him. Geraint and Gareth will see to him. Ye need to see Remus Lupin," Angharad said, pulling Alphard away. The familiar name broke his concentration on the misbegotten wizard. His nephew's friend: the werewolf. The pallid, skinny boy. Spy for Dumbledore. He took one last look at the wizard and then swept out of the tent and into his own where Remus Lupin paced the floor, drumming his wand against his thigh, a picture of pent-up stress, ready to blow.

He was nothing like Alphard remembered. But of course, he wouldn't be. He was a man now, the same age as Sirius would have been. Not as tall, but certainly not reedy anymore. Lupin scraped his hand through his shaggy hair as he paced then turned as he saw Alphard. And like Sirius, this man looked so much older than he should: prematurely greying and lined. Such lives these boys seemed to have led, Alphard thought.

Lupin's face fell, his mouth forming an O of shock.

"Dear God," Lupin murmured and looked unsteady. Angharad rushed to him and settled him on the stool once more.

"I told you, you're not fully healed yet. Alf can help. He's a proper Healer," she said as she took off Lupin's shirt once more, as he stared, seemingly transfixed, at Alphard.

"It can't be ..." gasped Lupin, his eyes huge. "How?"

Alphard advanced, suddenly realising how very much alike he looked to Sirius, and how this must seem to Lupin. He and Sirius had kept their meetings secret: a huge secret to be revealed with Sirius's pardon. It had seemed such a good idea at the time.

"Be calm, Remus," said Alphard gently. "I'm Alphard. Do you remember me? Sirius's Uncle Alphard?"

"Oh dear God!" Lupin rasped and his eyes seemed to brim with tears. "I'm sorry. I thought ... I'm so sorry." Lupin looked away, his face colouring as he wiped at his cheeks like a child. Alphard saw his hands tremble. He placed a calming hand over them and placed them in Lupin's lap.

"Just the shock, Remus. It's fine. It's okay," he soothed, remembering how Sirius had told him of this friend, the only one left alive, the one he had thought a traitor – what a cruel revelation that must have been – but how they had rebuilt their friendship, slowly, painfully. The boy who was a werewolf. How Alphard wished he had known back then when he had helped Sirius become an Animagus: perhaps he could have helped more – for the memory of Idris, of course.

"May I treat your ribs?" he asked, slipping into his professional manner. Lupin looked at him once more, his expression still one of struggle for comprehension, but he nodded. Alphard cast and saw some breaks had already been repaired, but there was some other more complex injuries. The man had taken quite a hiding, no doubt.

"You're Idris's mate – Alf?" Lupin asked as Alphard worked. Alphard nodded and gave a small smile as he drew together a ripped muscle and Lupin flinched. It was a small flinch for the size of the tear. Judging by the scars that littered the man's upper body, he was more used to pain than most. There were more scars on this body than on the oldest of the werewolves here – and there were bites, tears made by teeth - they weren't on the elderly werewolves. He wondered what lay at the root of it.

"Did you escape? Did Seth ... Severus help you? Did you see if he's all right? What happened?" Lupin asked, his expression desperate.

Alphard stopped casting, and took a step back and held Lupin's shoulders.

"I escaped exactly how your mate instructed me, Remus. I didn't see anything else. Now, let's finish this, shall we?" he said calmly, and poised his wand again, as Lupin nodded slowly, his eyes flicking over Alphard's shoulder as if somehow he could see outside if he just concentrated hard enough.

All the time, Angharad looked on, watching Alphard work so efficiently as he himself watched his jumpy patient carefully. She saw the worry and stress etched into Lupin's face. She had only found out today who Seth Moore really was. It seemed to make sense that fragility they had seemed to have when they were with the pack that summer and that it was Seth Moore himself who pretended to be a follower of he-they-didn't-name. That sense of their life together, interrupted, settled now in her mind.

"Idris will have your Seth Moore here with you soon, Remus Lupin. Try and calm," Angharad said gently. "And then we have more to do."

"More?" asked Alphard, finishing his casting and handed Lupin his shirt.

"We need a show for that wizard we've got," said Lupin indicating outside. "He has to believe Seth's capture is genuine. Idris has arranged that Geraint and Gareth will hold a small show for him."

AB~IL~ AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Once the battle ultimatum was given, Idris pulled Snape away and into the mass of his pack. The man reeked of terror as Idris held him, but it was not the terror of fight or flight; it was a different desperation. As Idris watched Snape's wild expression, he understood the man feared for his mate. They waited until until Greyback's werewolves moved away then Idris dragged Snape along, ensuring it was uncomfortable and scowling at him that he would pay dearly for his trespass so none would think the captive was anything other than their sworn enemy.

"The Dark Lord's torturer, is it? We'll see about that," Idris sneered, then pulled in to Disapparate. Still mindful of Snape's cover, Idris threw Snape away from him, then heard and felt the dislocation of Snape's shoulder. Whilst Idris admired Snape's strength in controlling his scream, the man should have had his wits about him to prevent that injury. He grabbed his other arm, and muttered at him dragging him through his massed werewolves. There was the messenger wizard, on the verge of soiling himself. Idris nodded at his twin sons.

"Yer'll be a different wizard when ye return to yer precious Dark Lord ... if we return ye at all," rumbled Idris as they passed the three, and yet more fear assailed his nostrils from Snape. All Idris wanted to do now was give Remus Lupin his mate back, and set eyes on his own even as he saw Snape's eyes glitter with tears as he marched him relentlessly through the camp.

"Cryin', is it?" Idris snarled, cruelly. "Mightta known!"

They reached Alphard's tent and Idris flung Snape to the floor at the feet of Alphard.

"Think your Dark Lord will save thee now, Snape?" growled Idris. "D'ye think I'm not ready to dirty my hands with 'ee? Lay hands on my mate an' yer'll pay the price."

Idris picked Snape up by his robe front and grasped his face painfully, recalling again the blood on the parchment, then Lupin spoke.

"My prize, remember. We agreed. Snape owes me a debt. He pays my price first. You can have what's left."

Idris squeezed Snape's face hard again, still emanating fury, but he nodded and violently cast Snape on the floor once more.

Idris whirled and, facing the tent flap, slashed his wand so a heavy silencing charm fell over the tent and sealed it from all outside. He had watched the face of the wizard called Scabior drain and look ill.

_All to the good. Let him think he'll be next,_ Idris thought.

As soon they knew they could speak freely, as Lupin rushed to Snape, undoing his bindings and talking to him, but Idris didn't listen. He pulled Alphard to him roughly, desperate for the closeness of what could have been lost.

"Why did you …?" Idris started gruffly, holding Alphard close, his eyes now glittering with relief.

"I'm sorry! I didn't think. Forgive me!" Alphard interrupted him, returning the embrace and pulling Angharad in to it. "I just didn't think."

"Dear Merlin, why ever would ye?" Angharad said, softly, her arms around each man's waist as she kissed the cheek of both. "Our mountain has watched over us this day to have Remus Lupin and his mate help us get you back."

They heard Snape swear as Lupin touched his shoulder and looked down to where Lupin knelt with Snape.

"I pulled it out," said Idris, giving the group a sheepish smile. "Didn't expect 'im to be so distracted."

"What?" Lupin barked angrily, and his wand was in his hand casting over Snape.

"Let me," said Alphard. "A healing spell for a healing spell, I think," he smiled warmly as he knelt next to the pair, recalling how he had felt healing in his stomach when Snape had awakened him – potion or spell, he knew not which, but now he could return the favour.

Now Idris barked the same question at Lupin, but Alphard interceded, seeing where these two males could come to blows over this complicated pretence in which they had connived.

"I think we can say that everyone played their part well. I believe I felt a healing spell, is that right – erm – Seth? Severus?"

"We should stick to Seth, I think," said Lupin, his eyes never leaving Snape's face. "Severus is such an unusual name, if something slipped, his secret would be out."

"Seth it is, then." Alphard smiled again as he cast at Snape's shoulder. "I'm right that I felt a healing spell?"

"The runt, Jake, he kicked you when you were Stunned. I healed you."

"Well, I thank you." Alphard cast and manoeuvred the dislocation back into place smoothly. "Anything else needing attention?" Alphard Summoned a pain reliever in a small phial and gave that to Snape as he looked at the red marks from Idris's grip which would doubtless darken and bruise.

"There'll be bruising, but it's best to leave it – 'my marks and scars I carry with me', shall we say," said Snape, still seeming quite disorientated to Alphard, but he recognised the quotation and whilst it made him smile in recognition, it horrified him in its implication. He rarely met wizards who enjoyed Muggle literature as much as he did. Perhaps, he could relax this man by something so familiar.

"Ah,'to be a witness for me that I have fought'," Alphard said. "Pilgrim's Progress! Very good, I understand."

Snape nodded again and then stood and Alphard retreated back to Idris and Angharad who embraced him once more.

"D'ye think he's genuine, this spy of Dumbledore's?" Idris asked his mates quietly.

"Oh yes," said Angharad. "Just look."

She looked over at Lupin and Snape appreciatively, and Alphard followed her look. He smiled to see Lupin propped against the high stool with Snape leaning against him, talking softly to each other, their hands gently touching each other's faces. Even though this man had such a severe face, he saw how the touch of Lupin softened Snape's rigid spine, and his hawk-like features gentled with each whispered word and light touch. Alphard was sure there was no dissembling here.

Alphard turned back to his own love, still holding him tightly, who was breathing in deeply as if breathing Alphard's scent like perfume.

Idris's hand raked through Alphard's hair as he looked over Snape appraisingly.

"I see you now, not-Seth-Moore," he murmured.

This was why the man never appeared to fit in his skin. It hadn't been his skin - Idris had known, when he looked back, that it was not Snape's true self. _This_ skin, sharp features and sallow complexion, was the true man. Had Idris not met and talked to this man before, he would have said he was an unkind-looking man, but he had seen him teach the Patronus Charm, join with his mate in the rut of the night and now he saw the truth of him, seeing his complete repose in his mate and the fire in his eyes.

"To work," Idris said, finally, as if all his resolution were required, and he disengaged himself from his mates, cupping each dear face with each of his large hands then he turned to Remus Lupin and Seth Moore.

"You two. C'mon. We need ta plan."

Angharad went to fetch Idris's most trusted Betas, Bedwyr, Arwel and Caradog, and his sons. During that short absence, Idris drew Alphard into his embrace.

"Never scare us like that again, Alf. I couldn't be without you now," murmured Idris.

"Never," Alphard swore and held Idris, deeply mortified by what his carelessness had caused.

Within minutes, the others arrived.

"Ye'll have seen me bring this man in like a whipped dog," Idris said, nodding over to Snape. "But he isn't any such thing. If ye remember Seth Moore who taught the Patronus and defensive spells with Remus Lupin – this is him."

The werewolves muttered in shock, as they all stared at Snape, who, Idris couldn't help but note, had regained considerable composure since he had been reunited with his mate. He now stood straight and proud, that hawk-like face now quite imposing.

"Hear me," Idris commanded. "Give me your pledge that what is told to you in tent shall not be repeated outside of it – to anyone, y'hear? No-one. The battle – our future even - may depend on it!"

Silence fell at the pronouncement, and one by one, each werewolf swore exactly as Idris asked.

"This Seth Moore is a spy for the Light. What we have done so far, we have done to ensure he is not discovered by the Dark. However, he helped Alf to escape and his knowledge will help us win the battle coming and drive away Riddle and his jackals."

Then he pulled Snape's wand from his belt and returned it to him. With that, the spell broke and the assembled company began to talk as Idris laid out a large piece of parchment and plotted out the surrounding area as Snape contributed the current positions of Greyback's pack.

Idris and his lieutenants discussed various vantage and ambush points and tactics and watch around the camp was doubled, and those werewolves capable of Disillusionment Charms were sent out in a group to scout the others' current whereabouts and take out as many look-outs silently before dawn as possible. If the opposition could be frightened by unexpected losses; all the better. As far as Idris was concerned, Greyback would be looking to secure advantage by underhand methods, so that is how they would play the game.

Lupin told the group everything he knew of Greyback's tactics, and both he and Snape told them about their last fight with Greyback and his smaller pack, back when they had raided the Whitby Werewolves. Snape told them of Aidan, probably Greyback's best fighter, vicious and unscrupulous, who had killed one of the group called Acastus when aiming the Killing Curse at Stacy and Greyback had killed another called Thad who Lupin suspected had been the mate of Jethro. The lieutenants growled ominously.

They planned for hours, each lieutenant being assigned certain manoeuvres, to envelop Greyback's pack in a pincer movement leaving them only retreat. Snape advised that he expected Greyback to call on the Dementors to begin with to weaken Idris's pack. These had to be dispelled at the outset as that too would fatally weaken Greyback's pack's collective resolve. Finally, their planning meeting broke up, the lieutenants leaving to hold meetings of their own and the five were left to eat at Alphard's table.

"I can only stop a spell with 'ee," said Idris. "My place is with the pack on the eve o' battle." Idris finished his food quickly and excused himself to join the pack around the winter fire on battle's eve – his place as Alpha to be with his pack. He had very much wanted to stay with Alphard and Angharad, almost finding himself wishing he were ordinary, just so he could hold his mates tight to him and leave the responsibilities to others. But it was his responsibility, so he took his place by the fire, as his pack slowly gathered on this eve of battle, chattering excitedly even though the tension was palpable. He talked to each and every one, quietly confident and reassuring.

Angharad and Alphard had wanted to accompany Idris, both knowing the responsibility lay heavy on his shoulders if he was alone, but they ate with their company, all of them desperately hungry after such a day: the stew, thickened with barley and root vegetables and only a few rabbits that they managed to find, tasting like a feast to the famished.

Alphard noticed the looks that Lupin kept shooting him and he met each one openly, knowing the man wanted to speak of Sirius now they were no longer occupied with planning, but allowing him time to frame his questions. Eventually, it came.

"Alf? May I ask? I thought ... well, Sirius told me you had died – years ago," said Lupin, as he wiped the last of his stew up with a piece of bread.

Alphard smiled ruefully. "I renounced my name." Lupin looked perplexed. Alphard settled down to explain the ritual although it pained him to repeat his belief in his nephew's guilt with painful hindsight.

Lupin turned to Snape. "Sirius used to talk of his Uncle Alphard all the time when we were young. I think you were the only one he ever spoke of without being angry," he said to Alphard. "Well, you and Andromeda. He always liked Andromeda, too."

Alphard smiled, trying to hide the sudden pang at the mention of his niece's name, especially as he heard Lupin's own sorrow. Here they were together – they should celebrate Sirius, Alphard thought. How often would they get to speak of him otherwise?

"You know, Remus," Alphard shifted, and began to smile, "Sirius was always a bit of a handful. I swear there must have been a Gryffindor dormant in our ancestry, and it re-awoke in Sirius!" He saw Lupin begin to smile, and Alphard felt that strange tangle of both pain and happiness to speak of his boy once more with someone who knew him.

"He was quite strong in his magic, even when he was young. Of course, my sister preened over that quite dreadfully until it seemed he really loved to annoy her. She used to think he was possessed by a malicious sprite. Oh, he answered back, said 'no' far too much and all the things that other children do, but which my sister was convinced pure-blood children did not! Did I encourage him?" Alphard smiled broadly now. "Of course, I did! As soon as possible, I brought both Sirius and Regulus toy brooms, although my sister loathed them playing in any manner that was unseemly." Alphard chuckled. "I taught them Exploding Snap and Gobstones, although all she wanted him to learn was chess and deportment." Alphard rolled his eyes. "At their age! I may not have helped engender the respect my sister and husband thought that they were due," he said with mock seriousness. "Certainly, Sirius considered it his duty to tear around the house at full pelt, and, when he was six, he managed to cast a freezing charm on the stairs and then slide down them on a tea-tray." He did a gliding motion with his hand that seemed to delight Lupin. Alphard nudged him conspiratorially. "Antique, of course. And the banisters were there purely to slide down as far as Sirius was concerned." The picture was clear in Alphard's head.

"_Uncle! Uncle! Look at me! Wheeeee!" sang Sirius, as he swooped down the banister pell mell, as his small brother ran down the stairs at his side._

_And then the witch's hand, her bony fingers like talons, grasping the boy unkindly as he landed at the foot of the staircase._

"_There's always the attic room for bad boys, Sirius. Listen to your Uncle Alphard and that's where'll you'll be!" she hissed. "Just as _he_ always was."_

That memory suddenly stung. Alphard breathed deeply, and pushed it away.

"Did you ever see the funereal Black family china?" asked Alphard, as Lupin leaned forward, his face now open and smiling. Lupin nodded. "Bloody ghastly, wasn't it, with our crest on it, _Toujour Pur,_" he sneered, "in – surprise, surprise – black and Slytherin green." Alphard snorted mildly. "When Sirius was seven – seven, mind you! – Walburga and Orion held a formal dinner for the Minister of Magic and some of his cronies – old Orion wanted to get in line for an Order of Merlin, you see. The grand dining table had been set, sumptuous in Victorian grandeur – by which I mean pompous and overblown, of course. When Sirius had charmed them, I don't know, but as we waited for the fish course, our fish plates appeared in front of us and the crest shimmered, there and then, and in front of us all - our motto shifted to _Toujours Puke._"

Lupin barked at laugh at the unexpected trick and it clearly tickled him because soon tears were rolling down his face in merriment, as he tried to stop laughing, but found he couldn't. Alphard smiled broadly too, although he recalled that Sirius had spent the night in the attic with the murderous ghoul that night, no matter how bitterly Alphard protested that it was no more than youthful high spirits.

"_This is no house for youthful high spirits, brother. You should know that. I will not have hellions for children. This is the House of Black."_

And yet, Sirius's spirit never seemed to break. The more he talked, the more memories came to mind and soon Lupin was joining in, telling Alphard about pranks that they had played at school, teachers, students – all had seemed fair game for his nephew's never-ending search for entertainment. It was nice to hear someone else's recollections, rather than dwelling on his own, the recollections of an old uncle.

At that moment, they heard singing. Just Conway at first, then joined by the other Whitby Werewolves. Rousing songs that encouraged more to sing. Other werewolves joined in and Angharad laughed with delight. The spell was broken and Alphard remembered Angharad and Snape once more who'd been deep in their own discussion.

"We should join them now, Alf," she said, "and leave these two alone." Alphard grinned – he wasn't too old to understand _that_.

"I'll be in at dawn," warned Alphard. "Rounds for the patients and to ready for battle." He nodded at an alcove full of potions and they both left, re-setting the charms behind them.

As they walked to the fire and sat themselves either side of Idris, Conway was leading the others in a riotous sea shanty:

_Hoo-ray and up she rises, hoo-ray and up she rises_  
_Hoo-ray and up she rises_  
_Ear-ly in the morning_

_Hoist him up to the topsail yardarm, hoist him up to the topsail yardarm_  
_Hoist him up to the topsail yardarm_  
_Ear-ly in the morning_

They whooped through the repeated phrases and all the verses, becoming more and more pronounced and dramatic, all seeming to loosen up in the release of song. Sea shanties were replaced by drinking songs and then marching songs, young and old joining in, even as the youngest cubs just watched their parents, trying to learn the words and tunes from them.

A good-natured lull followed, then Gwydion, a werewolf of only two years, stood and began to sing the Welsh hymn, in a deep bass voice that made Alphard's skin prickle with its depth and beauty.

_Guide me, O thou great redeemer,  
Pilgrim through this barren land;  
I am weak, but thou art mighty,  
Hold me with thy powerful hand;  
_

The werewolves quickly picked it up, whether they believed in a deity of not. Alphard had seen many great churches and cathedrals in his travels across the continent, even heard their great choirs sing, because he was a man who adored beauty and tried to find it wherever he was. And here – here was as beautiful a sound as he had ever heard.

_Bread of heaven, bread of heaven  
Feed me till I want no more;  
Feed me till I want no more_

The hymn began to soar in the air with the strong werewolf voices, ringing and triumphant, as they reached the final verse and Alphard, who had never heard the pack sing quite like this before – like one of those great choirs, with strong voices and in perfect harmony, looked at the pack and saw that there were tears in the eyes of some of them, the singing speaking to something – perhaps cultural - before they were Turned. He didn't know, but the singing stirred him and he joined in as best he could, a resounding plea to Fate, or to a deity or the great ancient magic of this mountain, to deliver them from the evil that now stalked them.

_When I tread the verge of Jordan,  
Bid my anxious fears subside;  
Death of death, and hell's destruction  
Land me safe on Canaan's side:  
Songs of praises, songs of praises,  
I will ever give to thee;  
I will ever give to thee._

The notes died away on the air, seeming to signal the end of the night. Idris called out to the pack to douse the fires and pack up, and they all made their way to the roundhouse, except those that took the watch on this - the eve of battle.

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**A/N: ****Wow! Thanks to Aynslesa, Illayne, rubyrosa, Strix Noctis, Smurny, sapphire-bubbles, Atenea217 and wrestlefan4 for reviewing. **

**Please read & review. **


	12. The Battle of Cadr Idris

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

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Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

This chapter dovetails with Chapter 89 of 'You Will Not Kiss Me', but from Idris and Alphard's points of view.

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**Chapter 12: The Battle of Cadr Idris**

Alphard awoke before dawn, Idris's arm still holding him to his body, just as Angharad also curled up to Idris on the other side. It was a place of perfect contentment: warm, comfortable and safe. He rubbed his cheek against Idris's shoulder as he resolved to push himself up.

"So soon?" murmured Idris, grasping Alphard's wrist, surprising him with his wakefulness.

"It's nearly dawn. There's much to do." Alphard kissed Idris briefly and move away but Idris pulled him back, his hand clasping behind Alphard's head.

"I need you today," he murmured to Alphard's ear, making Alphard's breathe in sharply and close his eyes. The night-time was always Angharad's and last night had been, probably unsurprisingly, a passionate night for the pack. Alphard had seen the want – the need - in Idris's eyes since he had escaped and had felt it desperately himself – the need to be as close as nature would allow and immerse themselves in each other until sated. But there was no opportunity to be away from the pack, especially as Lupin and Snape occupied his tent. Alphard had long ago decided he would never displace Angharad for her primacy in standing. He neither sought it nor needed it: but he needed his lover today. Foreheads touching, Idris breathed deeply, Alphard's scent rolling in through his nose and mouth.

Alphard held Idris's face in return, and kissed him more deeply, his body now beginning to heat in anticipation. Even now, Alphard could feel – smell – Idris's impatient desire even as he heard the deep rhythmic breathing and snoring of the pack sleeping.

"Please," Idris murmured deeply into Alphard's neck, nuzzling at the bite there, making the heat in his groin flare brightly even as he made sure the blanket covered them both for Alphard's sensibilities.

He and Idris had never had sex in front of the pack; they had always contrived to be private but his body was burning as Idris's hands began to roam over his skin, trailing bright desire in their wake and his own hands reached back in response as Idris pulled him close to kiss him, deeply and passionately, and then all Alphard's already meagre resistance melted away as Idris's fingers dragged along his spine and downwards to make him ready.

Alphard could think of nothing now but Idris making them both feel so alive after this day of terror and he yielded completely to the questing fingers, stifling his own moans of pleasure against Idris's mouth, even as their hips ground against each other.

It was Idris who broke the kiss, and gently turned Alphard around and spooned himself around him, his hand brushing Alphard's hair from his neck as the other snaked around to the front of Alphard's body to stroke him. Idris tongued his bite as he pushed himself inside and Alphard moaned deeply, trying to stifle it against his own pillow, but the sensations were too intense.

They didn't often make love this way, preferring to face each other, but now Alphard felt so very full, every stroke and deep thrust burning him deliciously, even as the bite heightened every sensation until there was nothing but the draw on his groin and the repeated thrill against his prostate increasing in depth and frequency over and over until the heated brightness crested and broke over them both, Idris biting and Alphard biting on his own knuckles so he did not shout out, but still could not stifle his cry of utter release.

Even as Idris came, he pulled Alphard closer, not relinquishing him, his strong arms holding him tight even as he breathed his name with words of love as Alphard held the arms which held him.

"Never leave me, Alf. Never leave me."

"Not while I breathe, my love."

Finally, Idris released Alphard who cast a cleansing charm over them both and quickly dressed knowing those bright, black eyes followed his every move, even as Alphard felt the deep throb in his body, and welcomed it completely. He just wished he had not had to leave his lover's side so soon.

As Alphard left the warmth of the many bodies in the roundhouse, the frigid, biting air of the mountains burnt his lungs and he beat his arms around himself as he ran to his tent to escape the sharp, hard January air. As quietly as he was able, Alphard entered his own tent, and saw Lupin and Snape tangled together in bed. He couldn't stop himself smiling at their entanglement or the identical intricate tattoos that enmeshed their upper left arms and shoulders that caught his eye. But his smile didn't linger as he saw that Snape seemed to bear considerable cursed scars himself – gouges across his midriff – ones that would have been completely healed by Dittany but for being cursed. Alphard grimaced as his practised eyes caught sight of other silver scars, much smaller and better healed but covering his visible skin. Added to that was the bruising that Snape insisted should not healed. Their bodies were litanies of damage and Alphard, the sad reader.

Alphard Conjured a partition screen around the sleeping pair for their privacy, and set about collecting his medicines and notes for the morning rounds, and then planning on a scrap of parchment for those he would need for an ad hoc field hospital.

Snape moved out from behind the screen and Alphard caught sight of him from the corner of his eye and smiled, apologising for waking him, but Snape seemed more interested in what Alphard was doing than having been woken up.

Alphard told Snape what potions he was using and the ailments for which they would be applied. Then a thought suddenly hit him full-force. Dumbledore had said that a professor of his was responsible for that extraordinary counter-curse to his hand and supplying _Spiritus Vitae_ and his hunch told him that professor was this man. He passed a heavy crystal jar to Snape.

"I've been working on this balm to assist the post-transformation wounds – those inflicted by the wolf form itself. We don't see so many of these as most of the pack runs free at the full moon but our elderly wolves can suffer badly from this as well as age."

Snape's expression flickered with interest and he opened the jar, cupping his hands over it so he could smell it before looking at the texture and then taking a dab with his finger. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to test it on one of his bruises.

"Not only is there the Dittany base of the usual healing balms, with added Essence of Murtlap, I've been working on an incantation to help with the curse element of the wounds to try to lessen the scarring. I'm a proficient Spell-Worker, but not the best." Now was the time to capitalise whilst Snape was so clearly interested. "It would certainly help if I had a Master-Caster to help me."

Snape's expression became blank, but Alphard knew he was schooling his features.

"What makes you think I can Work Spells?" Snape asked, and Alphard fancied he saw some defensiveness in Snape's expression.

"Oh," said Alphard softly. "Anyone who can trap a curse of the malignancy I saw in Dumbledore must be a Master-Caster. I've never seen a counter-curse of such strength and complexity." Alphard watched Snape carefully, as one would watch a snake which might strike, from aggression – or fear. There was so much more to this man, Alphard could tell. "And I think, Seth, you probably know that I come from a family steeped in Dark spell-work to recognise the skill."

Snape nodded curtly and agreed. "It's true that I have invented many spells; many of them Dark. I have, I am sorry to say, an affinity for Dark spells, creating them and now defeating them – if I can. Perhaps, I can copy over your spell-work so far and look at it. Remus is very gifted at Arithmancy too. He could help."

Alphard felt a flutter of excitement. Snape's response confirmed his suspicions: Snape _was_ a Master-Caster, but it did leave one question, considering the curse damage Alphard had seen on the man himself.

"I couldn't help but notice your scars," said Alphard mildly, indicating Snape's abdomen. "I hope you don't mind my saying but it's clear they are also cursed scars. How did it happen?"

"No, not a spell," Snape admitted. "It was Remus - a wound received at the full moon." Alphard couldn't cover his horror quickly enough and Snape hurried to continue. "I had rescued Remus from the Dark Lord but he'd been under the Cruciatus and had had no Wolfsbane. Even though he marked me beforehand, his wolf did not recognise me at first and attacked me. I passed out, but when I came to, the wolf had healed the gouges as you see them."

As Snape talked, relating a tale that clearly caused him anguish, it struck Alphard that medically this should not even be possible: it was the saliva of the transformed werewolf that carried the Lycanthropic curse, after all. Snape should be a werewolf, and yet clearly he was no such thing.

"But this is extraordinary, Seth!" Alphard said, clearly excited. "Although you weren't bitten, saliva was delivered directly into the wounds to heal you! You should have been infected!" Alphard swivelled to his desk and grabbed quill and parchment and insisted Snape sit down and tell him the story again as Alphard scribbled the details down.

And then Alphard knew for sure that this was the professor of whom Dumbledore had spoken with Snape's very next sentence.

"I wonder ... I wonder if the Claiming beforehand works like a Muggle inoculation." Snape breathed deeply and shuffled forward on his chair towards Alphard, stabbing the table for emphasis with his finger. "How else can it be explained?"

Alphard's brow furrowed even as he shifted excitedly in his chair. "An inoculation against Lycanthropy? It might be an avenue to research. We don't tend to look at curses the way Muggles look at their illnesses, so convinced are we that curses have no physical pathology to be tracked." He was sure it was specific, inoculating only Snape as the aggressor's mate, but even so – the implications were extraordinary. He grinned appreciatively at Snape. "Even this short conversation convinces me I'm right to ask you to collaborate with me."

"With the Spell-Working?"

"No, no. More than that. More than that." Alphard chose his research papers and pushed them towards Snape. "This is what I've been working on," he said, unrolling one particular scroll. "Dear Merlin, it nearly got me killed," he said, losing his breath momentarily at his rashness at leaving the camp, "and countless others, if you hadn't been on our side.

"I left the camp to pick up a new ingredient for this. It was beyond careless," he whispered in self-criticism. "I was experimenting with a potion to help the older werewolves. They have no energy or pliability to transform safely. It's all well and good to perfect the balm to treat the injuries, but I want to _prevent_ as many as I can. I've been modifying a potion of my own making and I'm making inroads, but they're slow. I wanted to try a new ingredient that might assist."

Snape moved to look at the research notes more closely as he said, "I have been trying to work on similar research to ease Remus's transformations as he gets older. May I see what you have?"

"Of course!" said Alphard, delighted his guess was right. "Of course! Dumbledore's potions master! Who could ask for more?" Snape spread the scroll and Alphard watched on tenterhooks as Snape scanned his researches, his eyes darting this way and that, and Alphard could tell his eyes sought out only the most pertinent information.

"So, you're looking at a South American solanacae base ... nightshade," he said after a while.

"Yes! I think it's a vegetable base that can be tolerated by the werewolf palette and can handle the antipyretic qualities of the willow bark without destroying it, and transfer it better, but also, with aggregation, it will add pliancy to the joints of patients, making the transformation more like those of a younger werewolf." Alphard was almost tripping over his words in excitement.

"Yes, I see. Of course, you would need to reduce honey and also the goat spleen in equal proportions and possibly extend the brewing time or you won't be able to stabilise the nightshade base properly."

Three things highlighted just in one perusal! Alphard couldn't contain his exhilaration.

"Do you know, before this happened, I had only been thinking that I wish I had a way to contact you? I'm not an Apothecary, although I'm a good brewer ..."

"... I should say you are to have got this far ..."

"But I know my limitations, Seth. But with your expertise, we could crack this!" exclaimed Alphard, slapping one fist into the palm of his other hand excitedly. "We could! What do you say? Will you work with me? Collaborate? We could exchange notes by owl ..." Alphard was sure he would say yes – he could see the ideas catch like kindling in the lights of Snape's eyes.

"Yes," Snape resolved firmly. "Yes, I will, Alphard."

"Marvellous!" Alphard cried, a little too loudly as they heard Lupin snore in disturbance. Alphard knew he had spent too much time talking, but it was worth it! He took his leave of Snape, taking his satchel full of balms and medicines and his notes and set about his morning rounds, just as the werewolves were stirring in the roundhouse and the surrounding tents and fires were being lit to cook breakfast and the watch was being changed by Idris.

As Alphard set up a main table for supplies he expected to need for battle injuries, under his direction, the young teenagers started to clear the floor of everything but bedding in case there were injuries requiring bed rest.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Idris took reports from the fifteen watch wolves as his sons and their parties returned – with prisoners. Seven of Greyback's pack had attempted to locate the encampment from incomplete directions given by the three traitors but had been captured, none too gently, by Iolo and Medwyn and their men.

Idris marched the captives to the tent where the wizard Snape had called Scabior was held and there they were shoved in and bound together on the floor. One had injuries that Idris thought Alphard should see – not that he cared, and he was more than prepared to hurt anyone who hurt his own – but they were his captives now and he wouldn't stoop to Greyback's level.

"Give 'em water, and get Alf to look at that one," he growled, pointing to the werewolf whose eye was so badly cut and bleeding that the lid had swollen completely, wiping his hands on his robes as if soiled by contact with them.

"Where's Snape? Have you done 'im in?" Scabior asked, his spine pressing back into the chair on which he remained bound, now soiled and stinking. Idris spun to him and grabbed his collar.

"Never ye mind what I've done to him," Idris growled, nose to nose. He smiled nastily as he smelt the man's fear and fresh urine. "Be grateful yer not in his shoes."

Alphard was brought to the tent by Medwyn and healed the cut over the werewolf's eye without any of the comfort he had offered to either Lupin or Snape, and gave the others a cursory once-over, before Angharad called them to breakfast.

"Can I ... can we ... have something to eat?" Scabior ventured, licking his dry lips. Idris squashed down a violent urge to lay into the wizard who had connived in the capture of his Alphard.

"Did yer see my mate had food or even water?" Idris yelled, his fists clenching. The wizard cowed in his seat, but suddenly Alphard's hand had taken one of Idris's fists, although he said nothing, but Idris understood Alphard's pacifying gesture. Still angry but holding on to his temper, Idris slashed his wand and all the prisoners were gagged. Alphard left them then.

"Only ungag them to drink," he ordered. "I don't wantta hear another word from the jackals."

Idris left the tent, carefully warding it as Geraint and his men appeared, panting for breath.

"Da!" Geraint gasped. "There's wizards come! Seven of 'em Apparated into their camp!"

"Jus' seven? And you're sure they're not wolfkind?" asked Idris. His son nodded. "Right then. We'll need to see if Seth Moore knows who they be."

Idris strode through into the tent with his sons as Angharad served breakfast and Alphard was telling Lupin and Snape about their captives. Idris told them Greyback had reinforcements and Snape listened intently to the descriptions.

"They're no more than decent fighters, all of them," said Snape. "But the witch, she is powerful and skilful, but it isn't enough. They think they've stolen a march on you, but they're still woefully short of wand-power. I don't think I need to remind you that these wizards, as well as the werewolves you're about to face, think nothing of casting a Killing Curse, or a Torture Curse. Give them no quarter. Kill if you have to."

"If'n I have to?" Idris repeated, with a snort of laughter. "I'll be hard-pressed not to."

It was then that Snape turned to Alphard, and Alphard's stomach sank as he saw sympathy in Snape's gaze. "Do you know who the witch is?"

"I think I can take an educated guess," replied Alphard quietly, his face paling as if he wouldn't recognise her description. "My niece, Bella." _And the killer of her own cousin,_ Alphard thought bitterly.

"It's probably best you stay here to run the field hospital," Snape suggested.

"No! I will fight with the pack. It's my family now," responded Alphard. He would not desert his adopted family to hide from the family who had stolen his life from him!

Then Snape produced a miniature flask from his cloak and enlarged it and then passed it to Alphard advising him to take it before the battle.

"Polyjuice? But why?"

"So you cannot be identified," said Snape impatiently. "Bellatrix will surely recognise you if she sees you. I promise you, if the Dark Lord or any of his Death Eaters find out that Alphard Black is the mate of a werewolf then he himself will come for you! You would be quite the prize," said Snape slowly and unpleasantly for emphasis. "Then this battle will all have been in vain. We want him to think this pack is too much trouble and not look to this mountain again. A blood traitor of your stature will be more than he can resist. He will want to make an example of you."

"Why you ..." Idris started forward, his fists clenched at the insult hurled at his mate.

"No, Idris! He's right," Alphard said quickly, interposing himself in front of Idris. "He's only saying what they will think, that's all."

Idris's glare narrowed as he looked at Alphard, and then stood away, still angry and muttering. Alphard reassured him quickly. He understood what Snape was trying to impart - the ferocity of prejudice that there would be against him.

"I know," said Alphard softly. "Seth is just trying to make me understand." He turned to Snape. "And I do." He nodded at Snape. "I do now."

As much as it may have wounded him to be considered a prize for blood supremacists, he had to go along with Snape's plan. Like it or not, he had found out years ago that what his family valued in blood was little to do with family.

"Polyjuice lasts an hour. Is that long enough?"

"This is an enhanced version," said Snape. "It will last approximately three hours."

"Another of your designs?" asked Alphard but apparently it was not.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

It was Idris who chose the werewolves for Alphard and Snape's Polyjuice. They had to be ones who would not be in the main group so their opponents would not suspect Polyjuice and become curious. Joel was a young werewolf, tall and stocky, quite unlike Snape physically, but healthy and athletic. He hoped the body would be able to move as he had seen Snape move when he had duelled him before. For Alphard, he chose a werewolf called Bran, middle-aged but still slim like Alphard himself. Bran was a trusted friend of Medwyn who would also be out of the main pack in the pincer movement. Alphard collected the hairs in two phials and then returned to the tent where Snape and Lupin awaited.

Snape measured out the Polyjuice into two separate beakers and added the hairs to each. The potions hissed and frothed. Bran's Polyjuice became a pale blue as Joel's turned a dull orange. Alphard grimaced. He had only ever tried Polyjuice once, back at Hogwarts when he had brewed it for his NEWT examination. As part of the exam, they had had to test their own brew with a hair from a fellow examinee. As he recalled, he Polyjuiced into Josiah Crouch and it had been foul. It didn't seem to worry Snape though, who downed the dose without a second thought, even though he began to retch almost immediately.

There was no point in watching. It would only put him off, so he downed his dose too and his stomach revolted immediately, followed quickly by his knees giving way. Snape had already stabilised himself against the table, but both of them were gasping for breath as their skin bubbled as their joints began to shift in shape and size. Just as Alphard thought he would vomit, it all stopped and he began to breathe more easily again in the body of a younger man, feeling the utter strangeness of controlling someone else's body looking at a man who not seconds earlier had been slim and dark now stocky and auburn.

"Salazar's teeth, that is awful," gasped Alphard, but stood slowly, feeling the vigour of the younger limbs and the utter strangeness of being a different shape. He smiled weakly at Snape, who returned a tight smile, as he found his wand and performed a few simple charms, frowning at what Alphard assumed was a lack of dexterity.

"Interesting, is it not, how much muscle memory accounts for our reactions?" observed Alphard.

"Indeed," replied Snape. "It's why I prefer a Glamour or Transfiguration if I'm to duel. But we have no choice. Either of us."

With that, and Snape still practising wand movements, the three of them left the tent to join the assembling werewolves in the clearing, where the atmosphere was palpable with fear and energy as the werewolves milled, talking to each other, expectation in their voices and stances, feeling the battle drawing ever closer.

As Idris instructed his five adult sons to surround the battle clearing in a pincer movement, leaving a small exit for any escapees, Angharad and Alphard took Stacy to one side. Stacy had no problem realising who Alphard was, recognising his scent immediately. Angharad set out Idris's plan.

"You wan' Stacy to become wolf?" the large man said slowly, his overlarge brow furrowed in concentration.

"Yes, Stacy," said Angharad gently. "All the pack would be so grateful."

Stacy looked between his two trusted friends in wonder.

"All the pack wan' Stacy's wolf?" Angharad nodded encouragingly. "Won' be scared of Stacy?"

"No, Stacy," Alphard added softly. "We all want you to become the wolf so you can scare the bad wolves for us."

Stacy frowned as he thought on this.

"What if Stacy hurts bad wolves? Then Stacy a bad wolf?" His voice was plaintive, his fear plain.

"This is a battle, Stacy," Alphard said. "We will _all_ be trying to hurt the bad wolves to drive them from our mountain, and your wolf will be able to help us win a great victory!"

Stacy puffed out his chest importantly, a gesture that would have been sweet on a child, but it hurt Angharad to see it.

"Will Stacy be ... be ... a hero?" he asked, his childlike smile on an otherwise vacant face.

"Oh yes, Stacy. You'll be a great hero."

Stacy smiled as if in rapture, and nodded vigorously and then followed Angharad to prepare. He returned in a matter of minutes and stood by Idris's side in a full cloak. Idris patted his shoulder then met Snape's incredulous look, knowing this wizard would surely be terrified by what he was about to see.

"Just be prepared, Seth, be prepared," Idris rumbled cryptically.

Lupin told them he expected the Dementors to be summoned as soon as the pack left the protective enchantments and then he rose his voice to tell the pack of the Dark curses that Greyback's pack would use and the type of evasive action they should take, all whilst Angharad organised the stretcher-bearers, who would follow the main pack.

It was time.

Idris walked to stand at the centre of the clearing, adrenaline beginning to pound through him so that his hands and legs trembled with the surge, but he gritted his teeth and turned slowly until all the pack fell silent.

"The werewolves we go to fight may look like our kind!" snarled Idris. "They may smell like our kind!" Idris declaimed, turning slowly to look his fighters and catching the fire in their eyes.

"But don't ye be mistaken!" he growled menacingly. "These are not our kind!"

He turned again, his dark eyes aflame, his mighty hands clenched, his blood coursing through his veins as the adrenaline pumped harder, desperate for his pack to understand the evil that they faced – those werewolves so like themselves, but who let the beast within win!

"These are the worst of us! They will fight like cowards with Killin' Curses an' trickery. These are the reason we have to live in these mountains! Why we are despised! These are the beasts that give us that name!" Idris roared.

He waited to hear the angry shouts, ever the leader, knowing when his pack was beginning to engage, and now some were shaking their fists and brandishing glinting knives as well as wands. The _coup de grâce_ so they would fully understand came now. Idris's eyes narrowed and his voice became low, reverberating in its depth.

"They will rape your mates and defile your cubs!"

Angry shouts and violent protestations met this last, all the pack knowing what had befallen Bronwen at Greyback's hands and they yelled and hollered in fury knowing the battle must be won to avoid the same fate for their own.

"Scavengers and jackals, all! An' we surrender to no jackals!"

The pack's roar of assent went up and Idris strode out as the pack ranged out about him.

"MOVE OUT!"

With grim determination, Idris led the extended pack out to march them around the mountain to the theatre of war to restrain their wildest impulses and force them to focus on the battle ahead. He inhaled deeply to keep his head clear – or at least as clear as he could, knowing he would face Bronwen's murderer.

As they ranged along the clearing, facing Greyback and his pack, as he had known, their opponents were blinded by the low winter sun but then, even what little cheer the sun could give gave way to an unnatural mist which descended and darkened the noon, as a chill crept into Idris's bones and mind as he vividly recalled the desecrated body of Bronwen mixing with the ferocious voice of his Da driving him away from his home with piercing clarity ...

The Dementors were gliding down from the skies towards them.

"Hold your positions and wait for me!" Idris commanded, shaken to his very soul, but knowing they must wait until all the Dementors were close before they unleashed the pack.

The Dementors glided lower and lower, some of them beginning to swoop in anticipation as they neared where the pack stood.

"You can't deny the Dark Lord for long!" Greyback shouted, a leer plastered on his face. "Come with me now and give me Snape, and your pack will be spared!"

_Spared like Bronwen was spared,_ Idris thought, the hollow, aching remembrance the Dementors brought with them fired his fury once more and he growled like the wolf.

"I was named for this mountain. AND HERE I WILL STAY!" Idris bellowed, then raised his wand. "Now, my pack!"

As one, the pack cast and roared, _**"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"**_

The pack cast their Patronuses at the Dementors and, as the forms ran bounded forward, the mass of silver wolves, one giant shepherd dog and a doe coalesced into one huge pack, reverberating almost painfully with the pack's magic, that chased the Dementors down, enveloped them – and extinguished them as a crashing wave would extinguish a campfire – the Dementors hissed out of existence under the force of gorging on so much Light magic, leaving the ragged band of Greyback's werewolves and wizards exposed before them, circled by the luminescent forms.

Idris was well-pleased. "Because we are pack," he growled, as each werewolf and two wizards recalled their Patronuses and stood their ground.

"Wands at the ready," Idris snarled, his gaze locking with Greyback, never doubting they would be victorious. "Hold your stance. This is our mountain. We give away nothing!"

Then he whispered to Stacy, "It's time, Stacy, for your wolf to help us." Stacy seemed to need nothing further. He lumbered forward in front of the pack, uncatching his cloak. Idris heard the guffawing in Greyback's pack and the mad laughter of the witch, and smirked. His narrowed his eyes as he focused on Greyback – he wanted to see his reaction to Stacy. Greyback would know – he would understand what Stacy was – the Wolf Unbound! Just like Vargulf, as much Greyback's sire as he was Idris's. Idris wanted to see the fear in Greyback's eyes.

Then Stacy's cloak fell to the ground to reveal his huge wolf form in one smooth transition. It snarled, its lips pulled over its vicious teeth as it strode in front of its pack mates protectively, head lowered looking directly at Greyback's pack.

Idris leant forward, his eyes boring into Greyback's, seeing the horror in his expression and - yes! there it was – the primal fear. The scent of terror wafted to him in the harsh crystalline air of the mountain, and even though it was acrid, it was so sweet to him.

Faint cries of fear could be heard and the Jake, Uriah and Jude Disapparated. Idris couldn't help but smile unpleasantly.

Now, each werewolf now picked his adversary, like Idris, locking eyes with them. Alphard regarded Bellatrix with something like horror. She had been so like Andromeda when they were young – such beautiful women, yet watching her there, twitching and cackling, her looks ravaged, no doubt partly by her time in Azkaban but also by the soul-destroying Dark magic in which she so clearly revelled, part of him was glad that Snape and Lupin had marked her as their own.

"STAND UP!" Idris's battle roar went up and the pack began to run heavily towards Greyback's band as the wolf bounded forward, snarling and snapping its jaws.

Immediately, jets of green began flying towards the wolf, accompanied by the wild cackles of Bellatrix, but with preternatural speed, the wolf seemed to dodge them all, some rebounding from the impenetrable hide of the Dark creature he had become. It was enough to have some of their enemies hopping with panic at the sight of the wolf and so many other werewolves. In just a few minutes, another three had Disapparated to Greyback's indignant howls of "STAND FAST! YOU BASTARDS, FIGHT!"

"To the right is Nero," Lupin shouted, "and the left is Aidan and Jared is behind! Take them out!"

Even as Alphard fixed his sights on the Beta to Greyback's right, Nero, it was clear that Stacy already had Aidan marked for prey. Idris recognised the scent of the wolf with its prey's scent. Even as Aidan postured to meet Lupin in battle, he realised that the wolf had targeted him, but too late. The wolf sprang high and was on him, at his neck, snarling and shaking as he bit in a frenzy – the spray of blood catching those around him, but none could assist – they all knew it was too late even as Aidan's screams gurgled away to nothing.

The lifeless body was thrown around, as Idris gained on Greyback, whose attention flitted between him and the slavering wolf who had just savaged his Beta. Capitalising on Greyback's distraction, Idris unleashed a volley of battering curses in wide slashing motions, taking his opponent by surprise with his ferocity, unbalancing him as he tottered absurdly. Neither Alpha raised a Shield Charm but counted on the freedom to fire at will instead to overwhelm the other as vicious Battering and Whipping Hexes were exchanged, each man taking violent body blows from the other, neither caring for finesse or subtlety.

As Idris and Greyback's mighty battle raged, Alphard's Shield Charm was raised in one swift motion as Nero sent a powerful Stunner to him, and Alphard undercut with a return Stunner and a Whipping Hex that caught Nero off-guard, but he righted himself quickly and returned with a Blasting Curse that rebounded from Alphard's powerful shield and knocked its caster backwards. As Nero hurtled backwards, he unleashed a Killing Curse, but the jet of green missed Alphard as he quickly side-stepped the curse and shot Whipping Hex after Whipping Hex in wide arcing angry movements, catching Nero across his face, opening up the flesh. Nero cried out in pain but was on his feet, returning the curses with equal fervour, his teeth gritted in a rictus of rage. Alphard could see that Stacy had taken down another werewolf and, without a doubt, Greyback's lesser werewolves were losing their nerve and, with it, their will to fight. From the corner of his eye, he saw another couple Disapparate, just as he saw Snape duelling violently with Bella.

In the instant that Alphard noticed this, Nero cast _Incarcerous_ that caught Snape's ankles so liberating Bella, but even as Snape stumbled, Lupin was suddenly there, duelling in his place in front of him. Alphard heard his niece cackle and insult Lupin but Alphard Whipped Nero's attention back to himself. They traded hefty body blows then another werewolf joined Nero against Alphard.

"Hold this one, Strephon!" growled Nero. "I gotta job to do so her nibs ain't took by them. If he loses another, he'll kill us all!" Strephon, young and fast, held Alphard with a series of wild Killing Curses as Nero tried to advance stealthily again. This time, Snape Stupefied Nero and he went down hard. As Nero fell, so Alphard's Stunner hit Strephon and Alphard bound him quickly as he saw the pincer movement werewolves now move in, curses flying, from the sides, completely overwhelming those left standing and in that same instant he heard an unknown curse screech from his niece's lips:

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!"_

It hit Lupin full force, and Alphard saw Lupin fall in agony, blood spurting from lacerations opening in his chest.

Alphard heard Snape's terrified yell and Alphard stepped in to block Bellatrix with a Shield Charm of his own as she repeated the curse and he drew Bellatrix away from Snape, recalling Sirius as he battled her fury, revenge of his own spurring him on, duelling as he had never had to duel before, even though her madness was truly evident in the malevolent glint in her eyes.

The pace at which she cast curse after curse was scorching and Alphard understood why Snape and Lupin had agreed to duel her together. Even as he formed the thought, a powerful _Expulso _knocked him back followed by and a Stunning spell and he knew no more until he was awoken by Snape. He quickly shook himself back to action and rolled away as he heard Stacy's wolf whining and thrashing on the ground and he scrambled to him as Snape began to duel her furiously once more.

Alphard cast his wand over Stacy, finding only that his eyes were swollen shut, weeping pus, but how Stacy cried in pain. He tried all the healing incantations he could think of but nothing seemed to have an effect on whatever curse had been cast against him. He was aware that Bella had been blasted backwards by Snape. Trusting that the rest of the pack would watch his back, he carried on casting charms to try to ease Stacy's pain as he heard Bella Disapparate.

He cast a heavy sleeping charm on Stacy so he could no longer feel the pain and called the stretcher bearers over, just as he saw Idris slam bodily in Greyback taking his feet from under him. Idris grunted with the physical effort and jammed his elbow sharply into Greyback's windpipe to take his breath away. Greyback rolled on the ground, gasping for air as Idris kicked him in the ribs then stood over him, his own breath sharp in his lungs.

Merlin help him, it was everything Idris could do not to kill Greyback as the jackal rolled on the floor. He could take the dagger he carried in his belt and slit his throat from ear to ear. He wanted to! How he wanted to - for Bronwen. Idris stood over him, his fists clenched so hard that his own nails dug into his palms and drew blood as he reigned in his own blood lust. He was not Greyback, he told himself. He was not a beast. Greyback would be his messenger to Riddle – Riddle who had taken everything from him, so Idris would tell him he would take no more!

"A messenger, yes. A wizard's lap-dog – that's all you are. Well, get up! GET UP, I SAY!" Idris bellowed as he grabbed the wand that had fallen from Greyback's grasp. Slowly, Greyback crawled onto all fours and as he managed to catch his breath his stood, shakily and trying to carry himself with a shred of dignity, but he could barely balance. The now lone werewolf stood, bent over, with his hands on his knees, rasping for breath, half his pack strewn about him, dead or injured, as the mountain Alpha towered over him, his face as mask of revulsion and hatred, ignoring the blood dripping from his own mouth and nose, his fingers straining as they held Greyback's wand.

The song the wand told was one of cruelty and dissonance. Idris wanted to snap it so a beast such a Greyback couldn't channel his magic that way at least. But it was pointless: Riddle would just get his pet another wand.

"You go to your precious Dark Lord, _Fenrir,_" growled Idris menacingly. "And you tell him what waits for you both here if you dare return. Death will always wait for you here – on my mountain."

Idris kicked the werewolf hard, knocking him down once more to add insult to injury as Greyback scrambled to his feet once more and staggered a few steps backwards, anger and fear warring in his features, then Idris tossed Greyback's wand to him and, with his own roar of impotent rage, he Disapparated.

The pack's roar went up as their prisoners were hauled to their feet, or Levitated if too badly injured, awaiting Idris's orders. Snape left quickly to follow Lupin with a nod to Alphard, but Idris stood in the centre of the battlefield, his adrenaline still running high. He cast his eye over their captives: four wizards, two of Greyback's Betas and another eight unnamed werewolves. He and Alphard went to inspect the dead.

Stacy accounted for four dead bodies, ripped to shreds. He looked at the bodies of another three, killed with knives. They were not innocents. He had not invited them here. Idris regretted nothing; nothing except this: four of his own pack, without a mark on them. The Killing Curse.

"Collect all of their wands and bring them to me!" he said. "Bury their dead," he added softly, "but bring ours home."

AB~IL~ AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard made his way directly to the roundhouse to tend the wounded. Most of the injured Angharad had already dealt with: broken bones and gashes and scratches. There was some greater spell damage that Alphard reversed, Angharad looking on to learn what she could.

Stacy was brought in, still in his wolf form. Alphard suspected that changing whilst his eyes were so badly cursed would be detrimental, so he encouraged him to stay transformed. No matter what counter-curses he performed, he could not reduce the swelling to Stacy's eyes. The pitiful keening of the wolf even in his sleep upset him. Perhaps, Snape would know. Conway sat at Stacy's side, murmuring soothing nothings to the wolf and stroking his crest as Alphard gave him a poultice to help the swelling.

As he drew up to tend to another patient, the Polyjuice began to wear off, and he was once again taken with nausea and the distension of his bones and joints. It seems to wear off quickly this time, and he was, once more himself.

Idris then joined them, right glad to see Alphard in his true form once more. Angharad cast _Episkey_ to his broken nose, healed his split lip and siphoned away the blood as quickly as she could as he was impatient to see all those who had been injured in their fight. He waved away bruise balm: there would be time enough later for that and he visited each werewolf who still remained in the field hospital. Most would be on their feet the next day, one had serious chest wounds that Alphard said would take days of bed rest and blood replenishing potion, and of course there was Stacy as well.

Their dead had been laid out in one of the tents and their mates now stayed with them to mourn their loss. Later that evening, they would build the ceremonial pyres on Cadr Idris. Good-byes must be made before a drop was drunk.

Idris and Angharad made their way to see Lupin and Snape to check on them as well. They let themselves in just as the men were discussing their plan to pretend to free Snape. Just a quick look at the pair told Idris that Lupin had come very close to death, and Snape's whole posture showed that he knew it, but he listened to their animated plans.

"We say then that you slip me my wand or deliberately leave it where I can get it once the victory celebrations start. I'll take those wizards with me but I'll leave the werewolves, if that's all right with you," he added with a smirk to Idris. "The Dark Lord will not expect me to save werewolves, even Greyback's companions."

Idris guffawed. "Aye. They need some learnin' before I let them go."

Alphard then strode in, looking flustered as he set down his satchels of potions and balms and made his way over to Lupin, as pale as a man could be.

"Seth has healed the worst of it," Lupin said, breathily. "And Angharad has given me Dittany."

"Oh yes, I heard Seth's counter-curse," said Alphard. "I covered him as he cast it. I've never heard that curse before. Is it a Death Eater speciality? Is that how you know the counter-curse?" Alphard Summoned a blood replenishing potion and helped Lupin up to drink it.

"Yes, a Death Eater speciality," Snape replied, never taking his eyes from Lupin's.

"Will you teach the counter-curse to me later?" asked Alphard as he held Lupin's wrist for his pulse and then checked the most recent wounds, pulled together by Snape's incantations.

Snape agreed, as Alphard once again surveyed Lupin's extensive scarring.

"I wondered if perhaps you know what curse was used on Stacy," Alphard continued. "All the curses Bella used rebounded from Stacy in his Dark creature state, except one that has caused his eye lids to swell painfully – he's in terrible pain. I've tried everything, but I don't recognise the curse."

Snape knew. In fact, it seemed to distress him quite as much as the Cutting Curse used on Lupin. "It sounds like the Conjunctivitis curse used against dragons because their hides are impenetrable. Try _Oculos draco, ecce!_ with this movement." Snape showed them an elongated figure of eight, and Angharad nodded, thanked him quickly and sped away, but Alphard remained.

"Are all these from your transformations?" asked Alphard. When Lupin confirmed it, Alphard frowned. "So much damage. Why so much?"

"He is a werewolf who tries to live with wizards. He denies his wolf," Idris said sadly, knowing instinctively what had caused such damage.

"You are not scarred like this?" Snape asked him.

"I have some scarring, but nothing like this and I am much older."

"Remus used to imprison himself to keep others safe and the wolf sought prey," said Snape. "It found itself."

Idris swore under his breath and Alphard looked appalled, the picture of a transformed wolf turning on itself forming in their minds.

"That's the difference," said Alphard, sadly. "The werewolves here have no bites other than their Turning bites; only breaks, tears and the like."

"It is better with Wolfsbane, and before the war, we could run at the moon, and there were no more injuries. But recently ... I haven't been able to be with him and it has become painful for him again."

"What keeps you from your mate, Seth Moore? Dumbledore told us Riddle keeps you at the moon," Idris asked. He knew how a mate could be driven mad and sick by his mate's absence. He still did not understand how they could bear to be parted. It seemed to take a great deal of will on Snape's part to speak, but eventually he did.

"The Dark Lord requires a potion to sharpen his wits. He requires me to brew it for him. It is called the _Acutor_ potion and it must be freshly brewed and ingested at the zenith of the full moon and requires the brewer's blood." He inhaled deeply, his shame in the blood magic he performed undisguised.

"Dumbledore told us you provided Riddle a service ... but this ..." Idris shook his head with sadness, but Alphard felt a flutter of excitement.

"But wait, Seth," said Alphard, a conspiratorial half smile forming on his lips. "Don't you realise what this means." Alphard started to chuckle as the implications played out in his mind.

"_Your _blood? Your _Lycanthropic_ blood!" With that, Alphard roared with laughter and clapped his hands. "It's too good! Your blood fizzes with your mate's Lycanthropy and the lord of blood purity imbibes it freely, the bloody cannibal!"

Snape's eyes widened comically slowly and understanding dawned on Lupin's face as Alphard excitedly told Lupin and Idris of his and Snape's discussion that morning, although Idris barely followed it.

"But this is it!" gasped Snape. "This is how I escape at the moon, Remus! I say I was injured by one of the werewolves and my blood is now unworthy ..."

"It's too risky, Severus!" Lupin disagreed. "He could kill you."

"No," Snape reassured Lupin. "I'm convinced it will work. I will have rescued the Dark Lord's wizards, have injuries as my proof, and I still have the trust of the Order's very own werewolf as well as Albus! No other Death Eater can give him that! Merlin and Nimue, Remus! It's perfect!"

Then Snape asked Lupin to describe his state after Lupin's wolf had gouged him. Idris was startled by this and Alphard quickly and quietly explained, watching Lupin's horror at the recollection. Idris could only imagine how he would feel if he injured Alphard that way.

Lupin had become quite ashen at the recollection, and he seemed unable to speak. Then, haltingly, his voice thick with emotion, he said, "The wolf's healing had closed the wounds completely. They were already silver, but the edges were raised and angry." His voice seemed to fade away. "That's the only difference," he finished in a whisper.

"Shirt off, Seth!" commanded Alphard. "I have just the thing to make that reaction on a Lycanthropic scar." He retrieved an Aconite root from a heavily sealed pot and cut it length-wise so it would release its juices.

"This will sting the scar a lot," advised Alphard simply, "but the surrounding human skin will be unaffected." Snape nodded. Alphard pressed the cut Aconite root into and across the scars to Snape's clear discomfort.

"There," said Alphard, as he wiped the residue of sap-like substance from Snape's scars. "Like new." He smiled brightly, trying to make light of something so appalling. "If you don't treat those Aconite burns with ordinary burn salve, those welts will remain. As soon as you can, get them treated. They'll clear up straightway."

Then they watched as Snape grab his shirt and cast a spell to rent the garment as if caught by claws, cut himself and siphon some blood and replicate it with a charm to drench the shreds of his shirt, still with his back to Lupin and then pulled it back on. The effect was indeed quite horrific, but Snape quickly pulled on his robe so Lupin wouldn't see.

"I'll need more injuries," said Snape suddenly.

"What?" blustered Lupin, clearly startled.

"A black eye or a split lip – very visible bruising, blood ... for when the Dark Lord sees me. Will you hit me?" Snape asked Idris, matter-of-factly.

"How hard, boy?" growled Idris, with smile of admiration, disregarding Lupin's objection as Alphard looked askance at them both. Idris made sure he obscured Lupin's view and, before Snape could answer, swung into Snape's face. There was a sickening crunch and Snape fell to the floor from the fierce blow as Lupin tried to leave the bed, but Alphard held him back.

"That hard," rasped Snape as he held his own cheek. "'Xactly that."

Alphard Summoned a phial of pain reliever and proffered it to Snape as he helped him up and then back to sit on Lupin's bed, not even offering to help the now shattered cheek. Part of him was angry that the man felt this self-abuse was necessary, but the other part could only admire the attention to detail and the courage the man displayed, but it shouldn't be this easy to acquiesce in one's own battery. It spoke to Alphard that this man was used to it – far too used to it.

As Snape rushed to reassure his mate, Idris watched them intently, admiring their bravery and their ingenuity and thinking that perhaps his world – the world of his pack – was a damn sight safer than theirs.

* * *

**Next chapter: Their worlds begin to diverge once more.**

**Thanks to Smurny, wrestlefan4, Aynslesa, sapphire-bubbles, Illayne and strix noctis**

**Please read & review. **


	13. Tainted Triumph

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

This chapter dovetails with Chapter 90 of 'You Will Not Kiss Me', but from Idris and Alphard's points of view.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Tainted Triumph**

Before taking his leave of Snape and Lupin to honour their dead, Idris would need to arrange the route of escape for Snape. Snape asked Idris for the wands of the wizards he would help escape. Idris pulled the captive and dead opponents' wands from his robe, unerringly drawn to those of the wizards, and picking out those of the wizards who yet lived. Snape seemed surprised.

Hearing Wandsong to Idris was as natural as hearing birdsong to those who listened. Each wand told a different tale: they sang of spells they had cast and of their casters; their song became discordant with Dark magic; had an undertone of grief if their casters were werewolves. All werewolves' wands had it: the recognition of the curse that flowed through the veins of their casters. As for the dead, the wands would sing in mourning but sometimes in liberation, for the wand always chose the wizard, but sometimes they were forced. Either way, they would always sing for their dead.

It was an easy thing for Idris to tell if a wand belonged to a werewolf or a wizard; to a dead man or a live one: it was the difference between the song of the blackbird to the caw of a crow or the hoot of an owl – to Idris, at least.

"Will you give the werewolves theirs back, or give them to your pack?" asked Snape.

"These wands have used Dark magic. I'll not have any of my pack carry them. Don't like to snap wands, but ..." His face set like granite as he clearly contemplated whether their captives should live or die. The dead must be honoured first, but then there would be the trial. However that turned out, he would not restore their wands. "I may place 'em on the pyres of our dead. It'd be fittin'."

Alphard squeezed Idris's shoulder and Idris was grateful for it. Alphard was still so very demonstrative to him: he made him feel so very worthy. He patted the comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Can a wand used for Dark magic influence another wizard them?" ventured Lupin.

"It taints the wand," said Idris, looking at Snape whose wand sang Darkly. "And Dark magic always taints the one who uses it." He could show them; it would be easier. Slowly, and hearing Alphard's small gasp acknowledging what he meant to do, Idris removed his mother's wand from his pouch. He gazed at it, the dainty, long wand with the filigreed handle, torn between fondness and sadness.

"My Mam's wand," he said.

"I thought you were a half-blood," said Snape.

"That I am. My Mam was a Muggle-born witch. Caused quite a stink for Da when he married her." He placed the wand on the table, never taking his eyes from it. "I never knew her. She died in childbirth with me. But even when I was quite young, I could listen to her wand." Idris's expression became distant, lost in the memory. "It sang of her, gentle and kind, and I could bring forth her spells: charms mostly." He remembered the healing spells, sewing spells, housework spells, and even one to help his father to sleep. He had called the echo of all of them and imagined his mother behind the wand – healing him or helping him to sleep. "I carried it as my spare when I came to Hogwarts, although I rarely used it." The truth was, he'd just like to carry the wand with him: a reminder of the mother he'd never known.

His dark eyes snapped back to the present. "When I was Turned and captured by Vargulf, Riddle used it to Torture me. He enjoyed defiling the pure wand. It's willow and Unicorn hair – a pretty wand for healing work," he said and then steeled himself for the lesson he meant to show them. "But I'll not use it. I cannot even call her spells without having to see this first." He passed his own hand over the wand and then turned away from a golden light that arced upwards and then it dropped and it formed the ghost of his teenaged self silently screaming in agony, writhing and twitching on the floor. He remembered the sound though. And the feel. He didn't have to look. He looked instead at Alphard, his face drawn in horror at the sight and then quickly cancelled the spell as Alphard hid his face in his hands.

"Can it be cleansed of the Dark magic?" Snape asked. "Water it down with light magic perhaps? Disgorge the Dark and fill the wand with Light spells?"

"Dilute it?" asked Alphard, who was still shaken by the ghostly echo of his Idris under the Cruciatus. "You mean use it for healing or other Light magic?" He didn't think he would ever be able to wield the wand that had done that to Idris, not now he had seen it with his own eyes.

"A wand takes a taint likes a man drinks water," said Idris gruffly. "The more a wand is used for murder and torture, the more it becomes a killer's tool." Idris looked at the wand again. "But there is something to what you say, but it can never be pure again." He placed the wand back in the pouch to think on it later, then turned to Snape and Lupin once more.

"Tell me," rumbled Idris, "why Riddle seeks me once more? After all these years, why?"

"I believe it's to do with Harry Potter's wand," offered Snape.

Whatever Idris might have been expecting, this answer was not it and his black brows shot upwards.

"Who the hell is Harry Potter?"

"Who the hell indeed ..." sighed Snape.

Alphard frowned in confusion. Of course, he had heard of the boy who lived; the very child whose parents his nephew had been accused of betraying. Sirius's godson, in fact. As Snape and Lupin spoke to Idris, Alphard listened very carefully, piecing together the bits and pieces Sirius had told him in their all too few meetings.

"Harry Potter is a student at Hogwarts. He is 16 years old, and is the only person known to have survived the Killing Curse, cast at him by the Dark Lord when he was an infant."

"But no-one can survive the Killing Curse," interjected Idris.

"And yet he did," said Snape, "with just a scar."

"Dumbledore believes that when his mother, Lily, was killed casting herself between Harry and Voldemort," explained Lupin, breathlessly, "her sacrifice imbued her son with a protective enchantment so when Voldemort cast the Killing Curse, it rebounded on him."

Idris sat heavily in a chair and raked his hands across his facial stubble. "Old earth magic," he said, knowing his pack resided in the heart of this type of ancient magic: the magic of the earth, of nuture and motherhood.

"Yes, precisely," said Snape. "No trace was found of the Dark Lord, and it was widely assumed he had died, but Dumbledore knew he was just maimed – a shadow of himself. Dumbledore knew he would return. And he did. He used a Dark blood ritual to restore his form, trapping Harry Potter and using his blood to restore himself, hoping to take part of his mother's continuing protection into himself." He heard Alphard utter an imprecation, even as Idris stared at him, his dark eyes glittering.

"When he was restored, he made Harry duel him -" continued Lupin.

"- he duelled a child –?" interrupted Idris.

"- without compunction," continued Snape. "But when their spells met, their wands seemed to connect and neither could break the connection and the Dark Lord's wand's previous spells were disgorged, including shadows of his murder victims who covered the child's escape."

"Tell me about this boy's wand," demanded Idris, already knowing that earth magic played a part in this, but troubled why Riddle also had not died. Why two had not been felled by the Killing Curse.

"Harry's wand is holly and phoenix feather," Lupin said. "Voldemort's wand contains a feather from the same bird but I don't know the wood ..."

"Yew," said Idris quietly, recalling the wand from all those years ago in the library at Hogwarts. He could see Snape and Lupin wanted to know more, but he'd had more than enough of a reminder of Riddle today. He wanted to know about this wand. "So the twin cores' spells met and forced _priori incantatem_ of his last spells including his murders ... what colour was the stream?"

"Gold. Dumbledore told me it was gold," supplied Snape.

The air in the tent was tense as three men watched him consider what he'd been told. He knew it wasn't just the twin cores: it was far more complex than that. Old magic – old blood magic: he was sure that was what was responsible for the boy's wand protecting him, for Riddle's wand being weaker for the boy's blood he'd used. And because Riddle's wand had been weakened by the old blood magic, the strong wand disgorged the other spells and … _worked them into a protective spell!_ Idris mind swam with the concepts, wishing he had the words to articulate the extraordinary magic at play. One thing he did know now was that Dumbledore knew what his Elder wand might be capable of – that was clear now.

Finally, Idris broke the silence.

"I know now why Dumbledore came to see us," he said to Alphard, who nodded. "Riddle's wand cannot beat the boy's. The old protective magic he imbibed so freely means Potter's wand is stronger. The wand recognises the strength."

"He is more powerful than the Dark Lord?" asked Snape, incredulously.

"That not what I said," huffed Idris impatiently. "The wand recognises the one who has the protection. Riddle should not have taken Potter's blood."

"It isn't just the twin cores?" asked Snape.

"That is part, but it is not all. There is much more magic at work there. Much more."

Alphard felt a chill in his soul. He would not speak of it here, but he had listened very carefully and he was sure too that there was much more magic: not just wandlore and old magic but something rare and Dark indeed. Riddle should have died. His mind stretched and grasped at the word he wanted – rare, Dark soul magic that had kept Riddle tethered to this world … it was on the tip of his tongue when Snape spoke again.

"Would you have been able to make a wand to defeat Potter's?"

"Possibly. I could listen to Riddle's wand for the song of phoenix feather and then I'd'a found a core and wood that combined could overpower it. 'Course, I heard Riddle's Wandsong decades ago. It was a Dark wand, even then." Idris shuddered at the memory. "But even if they are twins, they are not _mirrors _of each other. The boy's wand would have a different song, the core would resonate differently in the wood. It's a younger wand. Not been used for Dark magic. I could only have learnt so much from Riddle's wand. Potter's woulda been the wand I would need to hear. But Riddle probably doesn't understand that."

They were silent for a while then Idris added, "Dumbledore understands though. He's understood where the danger lies."

Snape and Lupin looked at each other, not comprehending Idris's enigmatic statement.

"Can you tell us?" asked Lupin.

Idris regarded the two men. The fewer people in the world who knew of the truth of the existence, let alone the whereabouts, of the Death Stick, the better in Idris's mind. He resolved and shook his head slowly.

"I don't think so. It is a terrible thing, best not known."

Then Idris left to discuss Snape's escape route with his sons.

Alphard knew that Idris would not return to say goodbye. He had seen the deep grief of the disgorged spell from his mother's wand and longed to know more about his thoughts on the connection between Riddle and the boy who lived. He wanted to discuss what he'd recalled too. He thought of discussing it with these two men, but then, perhaps, he should discuss it with Idris first: he had seemed determined Snape and Lupin should not know of the Death Stick.

Instead, Alphard asked Snape to show him the counter-curse to the Cutting Curse he had seen Bellatrix use and listened intently to the incantation, nuanced and skilful, and went over the wand movement with Snape several times. This was complex magic, but if there were to be any later clashes with Riddle's followers, he must master this.

When they were finished, he knew it was time to go to be with his family and yet he owed such a debt to Snape and Lupin and this would be the last time he would see Snape before he returned to Riddle, bloody and broken to try to prove a lie. It told Alphard that Snape deemed that this amount of genuine pain was required so that Riddle would believe him. Alphard found that difficult to comprehend, and he felt so helpless. It was inimical to him to leave someone without healing.

"I must join the others now to set the pyres on the mountain." He exhaled roughly, then stepped forward and shook Snape's hand warmly. "Thank you, Severus. For what you did for me - for us. I hope we will meet again. In the meantime, I will take care of Remus – please don't worry. And I will write." He felt a brief flutter of panic that perhaps this young man might not survive, but he pushed it away. "Take care," he said earnestly, "and good luck."

Alphard left quickly, and made his way to the roundhouse to do his rounds of the sick and injured once more, his mind full of Wandsong, old magic and Dark soul magic. Dark magic that could keep a man from dying. He knew he come across it before; after all, his family had been steeped in Dark magic. It would come to him.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

With brands lit from the central fire, each adult werewolf that was capable walked with the procession of the four biers, each werewolf's mate walking beside them with their cubs as the pack escorted their dead up the mountain for their final farewell. The younger werewolves had built the pyres after the battle and the dead were laid out on them with the Dark werewolves' wands as offerings to the mountain.

Gwydion did not lead the Welsh hymn this time, for he was one of the dead, but the werewolves sang for him and the other fallen – sang for the memory of the song he gave them on that eve of battle that had fed their victory.

As the hymn finished, Idris gave the word and the mates set light to the pyres and, as the great fires caught, the faces of the gathered werewolves were bathed in the orange flickering light of the flames and Stacy transformed into his wolf and bayed to the night sky the lonely lament of the wolf.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

The pack had stayed with the pyres through the bitterly bold night. They had drunk ale and toasted their departed and told stories of them so they would be remembered. By the time most of the pack had made their way back to the encampment, it was dawn, as cold a dawn as Alphard could ever remember. Snape and the wizards had long since made their escape and Alphard hoped Snape's plan had worked. The guards who had been Stupefied had recovered and had reported on the successful escape to Idris in private, although the majority of the pack did not know there had been collusion. Only the Dark werewolves were left, and they would be tried when the pyres had died.

Alphard looked in on Lupin in the tent and found him sleeping peacefully, looking rested. He hoped that meant all was well. He went to fetch his satchel of medicines when Angharad stopped him.

"Alf, ye've barely stopped for days. Take some sleep with us for a couple of hours at least," she said, taking hold of his hand. He felt he should get on, but he couldn't deny that he was shattered and with a small smile as he met Angharad's gentle brown eyes, he put back the satchel and left with her to sleep.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

The day had felt surreal when the pack eventually awoke and tried to get back to its usual routine. The injured were released throughout the day as and when Alphard considered they were well enough. Idris's sons made sure the prisoners were fed and watered but Idris would not see to them until the pyres had died fully.

Angharad and Alphard both checked on Lupin throughout the day, receiving the news that Snape had been successful – for now. Alphard hoped Lupin would be well enough to move fully by Tuesday or by the latest Wednesday and that he should be able to make his way back to Snape for the full moon on Friday.

"Don't worry," said Lupin conspiratorially. "I promise you I will be out of your tent by then, no matter what." Alphard found himself flushing, even though he felt foolish at his age and with this man that knew full well what the full moon would mean for a human mate. Then Lupin said, almost to himself, "This will be a very special moon, after all."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

As Alphard entered the tent that evening with food for Lupin, he had to look twice to confirm that he was indeed looking at a house-elf – yes, definitely a house-elf - in a Hogwarts tunic with a bow on her head talking earnestly to Lupin.

"And who do we have here?" Alphard asked with a smile.

"Tippy, Master," Tippy bowed low, recognising the patrician authority of Alphard's voice. "Tippy is here with Master Lupin's potion."

Alphard's eyebrows shot up as the elf turned from him without further ado and unstoppered the flask for Lupin.

"Come now, Master Lupin," she said coaxingly, as Lupin wrinkled his nose good-naturedly; it seeming to be something of a private joke between them.

"A werewolf with a house-elf?" teased Alphard. "Rather unusual, don't you think?"

"Albus Dumbledore," said Lupin as he turned away from the Wolfsbane Potion, "assigned Tippy to help us. She has been invaluable." He smiled fondly at the elf who Alphard was sure blushed.

"Come along now, Remus. I believe you're flattering Tippy so she won't notice that you're not downing that potion."

Tippy planted her hands on her hips crossly and shook her long bony finger at Lupin, making him smile.

"Master Lupin must drink it all and not leave one drop. Not one drop. Tippy must report back that Master Lupin has been a good boy."

Lupin burst out laughing and mouthed, 'A good boy, indeed,' and downed it all, although Alphard had to clap him on the back when he started to retch quite violently.

"And that's the best Wolfsbane I've had," Lupin gasped. "Can't you two collaborate on some kind of palatability potion, maybe a sweetener?"

"No sugar, I'm sure you know that, Remus," laughed Alphard. "I hope you will be able to report back favourably, Tippy," he said, with a smile for the elf. "And that you will give your master Alf's regards." He indicated himself.

"Tippy shall," she nodded emphatically. "Master Alf's regards, yes." Stoppering the flask, she turned again to Lupin.

"Has Master Lupin been fed properly today? Master Lupin looks very pale. Shall Tippy fetch some dinner ..."

"It's fine, Tippy," Lupin interrupted. "I've been hurt, but I'm on the mend now. I'm fed very well, I promise you."

Tippy looked suspiciously at Lupin, at the bowl of stew still in Alphard's hands, and then slightly accusingly at Alphard. "If Master Lupin is sure. Tippy can easily ..."

"Thank you, Tippy, but I am sure," reassured Lupin, quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Very well, Master Lupin," said the house-elf, Alphard thought rather grudgingly, as if she surely knew better. He hid his own smile as he remembered the old house-elf who had been his nanny as a child, old Minnie. She had brought up all of the Black children, although Alphard as the oldest son had always been her favourite. She had died when he was small and his father had had her head had been mounted on the wall at Grimmauld Place. Alphard had shrieked with fright and upset when her saw her head mounted like a trophy animal, but his father had sneered at him and told him he should never have got attached.

_"It was just a creature, Alphard, no more special than a cat," Pollux Black had said to his six year old son as he shook Alphard's upper arm in his cruel grasp._ _"You are a Black. Stop taking on."_

Alphard had been shown more kindness by that old elf than he had ever had from his father or mother and he knew that house-elves' first nature was caring and loyal. One only had to look at this house-elf to see that as she said her good-byes to Lupin once more and Disapparated.

"She's a bit of a character," laughed Lupin fondly. "Drives Severus ... Seth ... to distraction with her constant talking and trying to feed him up."

"I can just imagine," said Alphard. "So that makes two of you trying to care for him." Alphard eyed Lupin shrewdly.

The look Lupin gave him was almost heartbreaking: a look of helplessness and sadness. "If he'd just let me ..." but then he broke off and looked away.

"It's very hard when someone you love puts themselves in danger. I know that," said Alphard. "Have you thought that he feels the same about the risks you take?" Alphard knew the urge to protect his mate was irresistible for a werewolf; he had seen Idris demonstrate it so often. He suspected sometimes the werewolf forgot that the wizard had the same instincts, even if they weren't so primal. He knew what he saw in Snape's eyes. He had felt it himself at times but for years Alphard had been so alone, and now Idris wanted to care for him and keep him safe. Alphard just felt so privileged to have Idris care for him with so much passion. He had spent a lifetime without it, and now – it was his.

"I know he does," replied Lupin quietly. "I don't believe I ever really knew real love until Severus – how complete he makes me feel."

"I understand," said Alphard gently and Lupin smiled and they said their good night.

Alphard left the tent, and watched the remainders of the brands still burning and he remembered the years he'd looked for someone to pierce his loneliness – how he understood what Lupin meant about completion.

/

_For years, he had searched over the continent for Idris, convinced he would find him if he scoured the known packs. By the time Alphard was in his late twenties after a decade of fruitless searching, he had settled in Spain, and was training to be a Healer at the foremost magical hospital there. Continental Europe was in ruins following years of Muggle warfare, and it was easy for him to slip into a society that was rebuilding. He could pay for his training, of course, and the name of Black was still a passport to magical high circles even there, not that he desired them, of course._

_It was once he had qualified as a Healer that he met Sebastián. He had met him in a taverna near the hospital. He was dark with compelling black eyes. Alphard couldn't deny that he reminded him of Idris. He couldn't take his eyes off him when he first saw him, and it was obvious that the attraction was mutual. Every time Alphard went to eat there, he was drawn to look at Sebastián – part of him wondered if was he being unfaithful, and he spent many nights robbed of sleep, his mind in complete turmoil. But he was so very lonely. He had searched all this time, and still he had not found him. Sebastián would always bring him food and drink, occasionally he would brush Alphard's hand or wrist, and a shock so strong would pass through Alphard's skin._

_Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of meals at the taverna, meaningful looks and accidental but lingering touches, Alphard plucked up the courage and asked to meet Sebastián for a drink elsewhere and he had looked genuinely delighted to accept, although his older brother Alejandro was clearly not, and Alphard saw him arguing with his brother as Alphard had left at the end of the night._

_They had met in a Muggle bar the next night, and Alphard found himself enchanted, although that was surely the wrong word, for the truth was that Sebastián was a Muggle. What was Alphard thinking, beginning an affair with a Muggle? But he did because Sebastián was a beautiful man and he was tender and amusing and, like Alphard, not terribly experienced, because Muggles, Sebastián told him, could be imprisoned for being the type of men they were, and excommunicated from the Church. But Sebastián told Alphard he had always felt this way, and when they were together, it felt so right, he could not believe that it was a sin!_

_So Alphard took him to his bed and for the first time in many, many years felt the closeness of another man's body in passion, and for the first time ever, he took a man fully, and it was bliss. But as Sebastián slept in his arms, Alphard was haunted by visions of Idris, that he had betrayed him in the arms of another. That first night he had not slept at all; the second night that Sebastián stayed, he managed an hour, the third - a little longer. And so it was that he gradually let this man into his life and learned how to love again. Not the transcendent love he had had with Idris, but companionship and passion – and it was enough._

_Sebastián was Alphard's lover for a year. They didn't live together, for Muggle men could not do such a thing, but they cared for each other and were passionate. Alejandro suspected what his brother was and kept Alphard at arm's length as if he had a contagious disease. Alphard didn't care: he was always busy at the hospital and was happy to have his time with Sebastián to himself, even if his brother was always introducing him to eligible women to marry. Alphard could only laugh in sympathy: had he remained at home, all manner of eligible women would have been strewn across his path too. He kept his magic a secret from Sebastián, relishing the anonymity of trying to pass as a Muggle in Sebastián's world, putting down his mistakes to his being a foreigner. It wasn't perfection, but it was the first time he had been content in a decade._

_And then there had been that fateful night when Alejandro had come to his house in the middle of the night to find his brother and confront him with his wickedness. He had broken in and found Alphard and Sebastián in bed. He had raged that Alphard was a deviant who had led his brother astray as he crossed himself repeatedly, screaming that their parents would be turning in their graves! Even as Alphard went to get out of bed, Alejandro grabbed the lamp and threw it at Alphard._

_Alphard didn't think twice: he cast a Shield Charm and then _Reparo!_ to the lamp when it shattered on the floor as it rebounded, followed by _Lumos!

_It was only then that he realised the terrible mistake he'd made as he saw the terror on Alejandro's face and heard a horrified whisper._

_"Madre de Dios! La brujería!"_

_Sebastián was staring at him, fear and disgust marring his handsome features. Alphard could not cover his own confusion at such a reaction and moved toward Sebastián to calm him._

_"Get away from me, el diablo!" he spat as he stared at Alphard, grabbing his clothes and moving towards Alejandro. "You bewitched me! You are a devil!" With that, his lover and brother fled the house, with cries of 'Witchcraft!' and 'Devilry!' and cold dread spread over Alphard. If he was caught breaking the Statute of Secrecy, the penalties were severe. He had to leave! There was no time to try to find Sebastián and explain to him. He had shared his body with a wizard for a year and Alphard had never confessed the truth to him. Now, he would clutch at Alphard's magic to excuse himself from prison and excommunication. Alphard couldn't blame Sebastián for defending himself, but he cursed himself for his cowardice – he should have confessed it._

_But there was no time to think on it now. He had to go. He Conjured trunks and packing cases and casting various packing charms for his most precious items and Vanished them. Then he heard it: the din of shouts and threats as a mob made its way along the narrow street. He looked out the window and saw the men of Sebastián's extended family. At the procession's head was Alejandro and the local priest and, dear Salazar, they carried flaming brands! Was he to be burnt at the stake? His jaw dropped and he had to shake himself back to sensibility. Of course not, but it certainly wouldn't do to be found here. He Vanished the last of his possessions and then cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and slipped out of the side door and to the side of the angry mob as they began to beat on the door and then tear the house apart looking for the deviant demon. He slipped away, and didn't look back._

_He had never courted another Muggle after that, but wizards had their own prejudices, especially if one's name was Black. The mob was the reason Alphard left Madrid and found his way to the Wizarding enclave in the Pyrenean mountains._

/

Alphard watched the last of the brands gutter and die, along with the memory. Then he made his way to the roundhouse – to the only man who had ever made him feel complete.

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**Thanks to Smurny, Aynslesa, Atenea217 and Illayne**

**Please read & review. **


	14. Trials & Tests

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

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Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

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**Chapter 14: Trials & Tests**

"What will happen to your prisoners?" asked Alphard after they had seen Lupin off for the full moon to join Snape.

"The trial of the pack," said Idris, as he ate a large piece of cheese from his knife. Alphard looked from Idris to Angharad quizzically. He was sure he had never seen this in any of his textbooks.

"If'n a werewolf offends against a pack," supplied Angharad, "the pack tries that werewolf." Idris looked away from Alphard and to the crackling fire. Angharad caught the look but continued anyway; Alphard needed to know. "It happens at full moon."

"At ...?" Alphard looked from one to the other more quickly then. "At full moon? When you are all transformed?" He swallowed hard, understanding dawning on him. "So they will die ..."

"Just before the moon, we release them to run," said Angharad.

"The pack will hunt them down -" continued Idris.

"- and kill them," finished Alphard in a whisper.

"Aye," confirmed Idris, his voice a deep rumble.

Alphard wondered how the pack knew that the alien werewolves had transgressed against the pack. Then he realised that there was no way wolves who were not pack would survive being in the pack's territory at the full moon. He found it nauseated him. He would be in his Animagus form, but still have his human mind. He didn't think he could be with the pack to witness that. No doubt, in the past, only the bodies had been found and that would be how the knowledge passed down. _They _would not remember - but _he_ would, and he didn't think he could watch the werewolves being torn apart and reverting back to men as they died.

Alphard looked at his hands, suddenly feeling the weight of the silence between the three of them pressing in on him – feeling the enormity of their _difference_ for the first time.

"I can't be there ... I'm sorry," he gasped, feeling every inch a traitor.

Idris nodded curtly, got up briskly and left. Alphard went to speak but Angharad caught his hand.

"Leave him be, Alf. Just for now."

Alphard's stormy grey eyes followed Idris until he was out of sight, suddenly terrified of the offence he had caused.

But Idris was not offended – far from it. He was mortified that Alphard was clearly so repulsed.

But it was their way and it must be done. They had no courts, or judges and juries. No Dementors for that matter to mete out punishment second-hand. They had the age-old rule of the packs. Even as Idris trudged through the encampment feeling unworthy of his mate, still he knew he was worthy of his pack. He was their Alpha, and he must do what was best for the pack.

So it was that it was Alphard who sought out Idris on the afternoon of the full moon and asked him back to the tent. Usually, Idris had come to him by this time to stake his Claim on Alphard and make him safe before the transformation.

Idris had not been distant with him exactly – he had seemed more wounded. Alphard thought he understood: Idris's fear that Alphard would consider him a beast always troubled him. Alphard couldn't deny he did not want to witness the slaughter of the werewolves, even if they were enemies - but it would be true of any form of execution. It was up to him to make Idris see that he understood what Idris needed to do – and seek his pardon.

"My pardon?" breathed Idris in shock as Alphard stood before him in the tent. "What for?"

"For not standing by you during the trial like a proper mate," said Alphard softly. "I am a coward. I do not want to see such things. Forgive me."

Idris stepped forward and placed his hands on Alphard's face, stroking his thumbs across his fine cheekbones, feeling his heart pull as his mouth thinned and Alphard's gentlemanly hands wrapped around his wrists.

"Alf," he whispered. "Yer no coward." He pulled Alphard to him and kissed him, wishing he could articulate his love for this gentle man - the Healer - the kind soul that Alphard was who managed to love Idris knowing that Idris had to be what his cursed nature demanded of him, and yet chastised himself for not being the same. His own Alf.

The moon drew on him – the drive to Claim his mate before moonrise strong and demanding – and yet Idris did not succumb to the harsh call of the moon to subdue and take his mate. He made himself as soft and gentle as the man he held so close to him, reassuring him that he was a fitting mate for a gentle wizard as he took him to his bed.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Idris had secured Alphard's promise to remain in his Animagus form in case any werewolf caught his scent. Alphard had agreed, although he couldn't deny his curiosity about the possible inoculation effect that Snape seemed to have acquired. That said, Alphard was sure that it was the combination of the grievous wound that the wolf inflicted together with the Claim that had saved Snape, rather than the Claim alone. Alphard wasn't sure he wanted to gamble his life on it being otherwise.

If he had immunity, perhaps he could heal the sickly werewolves as they transformed but Idris refused to believe it could protect Alphard from other werewolves, even if it protected him from his mate. He might not be fully infected – but he still might be torn limb from limb!

Idris warded the roundhouse so Alphard couldn't enter until moonset, and no-one could override the Alpha's enchantments. Alphard would either have to leave the camp or transform and wait. Idris asked Alphard if he wanted to leave the camp as he re-dressed Alphard, smoothing down his robe, still holding him possessively. Alphard shook his head.

"No, I'd never leave," he whispered into Idris's neck.

The pack had gathered in the clearing and Alphard transformed and then watched as Idris's sons brought out the prisoners and unbound them.

"Go! Run for your lives!" snarled Idris.

The prisoner werewolves exchanged terrified looks with each other knowing, without wands, they could not Disapparate and they fled. Within minutes the change was upon the pack, and their moans and cries became whines and howls.

How different the change was this time! It was rapid – almost as if the curse that coursed through the veins of the pack wolves knew there was a hunt afoot. As soon as the wolves were settled, without another look at Alphard, Idris, the white wolf sprang away, snarling and slavering, and his sons and Betas followed in his wake, their powerful bodies rippling as their legs punched the ground to speed them after their prey. Within seconds, the rest of the pack followed after them, the barks and howls carrying on the wind.

Alphard sat, waiting for the terrible feral noises that would chill him to the bone, hoping that when they were caught, perhaps they would be far enough away to be out of earshot – he hoped. One by one, the sound of the triumphant howling presaging the trials carried back to him on the mountain air and he tried curling up in the tent after the last, but he could not sleep.

Part of him felt guilty to have shown dismay at the fate of the wolves; the other half could not have been party to it – could not have run with the wolves to their bloody revenge. Resting his muzzle on his forepaws, he tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. He padded out of his tent and heard the whimpering and whining of the injured in the roundhouse but was powerless to help even though his canine sense of smell caught their injuries, their spilt blood and their primeval anguish.

He itched to transform and do some work, perhaps on his notes for Snape – that would pass the time. But he knew that those in the roundhouse would smell him and probably damage themselves, even fatally, to try get to human flesh.

He trotted to the perimeter of the wards and paced them, slowly, as if on watch – almost giving himself a purpose, although he knew it was a sham to occupy his sleepless hours.

Before moonset, Alphard returned to the clearing where the pack congregated to change, and he waited there, sitting to attention in his usual place – waiting for his mate – a show of solidarity.

One by one the wolves returned, each taking their positions.

The white wolf saw Alphard first, quickly recognising his scent and nuzzled the white dog's neck giving a small whine of acknowledgement. The black she-wolf followed suit – and within minutes the change was upon them, and Alphard changed with them.

Clasping his knees and gasping for breath, Idris looked up to find Alphard. Relief washed through him to see Alphard waiting for them and he grabbed Alphard to himself, holding the back of Alphard's head with his large hand. "Alf," he rasped. "Thank you."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard and Snape's correspondence had begun in earnest within weeks of Snape's return to Hogwarts. Each passing full moon meant that Alphard could add an even greater amount of information which Snape seemed to consume greedily. Alphard in turn soaked in all Snape's information and improvements, excited by the progress they were making.

He wrote to Snape of his own interest in whether he too would have any immunity to the Lycanthropic Curse.

_I have pondered this a great deal since that revelation,_ Snape wrote. _But I think there is more to it than that one grievous wound. _

_First, we have the Claim: the bite of an untransformed werewolf. Does it transfer a dilute form of Lycanthropy? I believe it does. So the body of a human mate is first acclimatised to the curse – a tolerance building, perhaps._

_Secondly, I was attacked by a feral vampyr once at the full moon. It punctured my neck to feed, but did not transfer its own blood to me. The fully transformed wolf (but medicated with Wolfsbane) healed the bite. This was, in fact, the first time cursed saliva was delivered directly into a wound of mine._

_Lastly, there was the wound made by the claws of the fully transformed wolf with no Wolfsbane, but which was healed by that werewolf._

_I don't know if you studied Muggle epidemiology and infection as part of your Healer training, but I am impatient for you to acquire a microscope!_

What could Alphard do but buy a microscope now Snape had suggested it? How could he even resist? The opportunity to study a curse as a disease was too intriguing. He was sure it had been done before, but with access to so many werewolves as he had, or to his own and Snape's blood: wizard mates of werewolves, one medicated, the other not? He sincerely doubted it.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Alphard and Angharad had been working companionably on the fifth version of Snape's variation to the healing balm for most of the morning, although Alphard thought Angharad was a little more subdued than usual. As they worked, he saw Angharad suddenly pale and then she ran from the tent. Concerned, Alphard strode after her and heard her being sick. He approached her carefully and leant over her, casting _Scourgify! _to clean her clothes.

"Thanks, Alf," she said breathlessly, holding her own dark hair away from her face. "You'd think I'd be used to it after all these years."

"Used to what?" Alphard asked, confused. Angharad laughed softly.

"You may be a Healer, Alf, but you are so very sheltered." She leant on his proffered arm and smoothed down her robes. "I'm pregnant, Alf."

Alphard's eyes became huge and she smiled broadly at him. "You're pleased, I hope," she said, watching him carefully.

He laughed and wrapped her in a bear-hug. "How could I be otherwise? The world needs more Angharads."

"How do you know it won't be an Idris?"

He held out her hands from her in his own and looked. "I think it's a girl," he grinned.

"Idris has never fathered a girl."

"Then she's well overdue, wouldn't you say?" With that, he embraced her again, and led her back into the tent and sat her down, and passed her a glass of water.

"Is Idris happy?" asked Alphard, as he brought out some ingredients for a light nausea draught and began to mix them.

"Another cub? Of course, he is. He loves all his children," she said wistfully, and Alphard thought she looked quite beautiful. "Are you happy with this news, Alf?"

"Me?" Alphard laughed. "How could I not be?"

"Did you never want children of your own, Alf? With other lovers?" Angharad knew it was a forward question, but he had such a way with everyone – she couldn't help feel he would have made a wonderful father.

"You know what kind of man I am, Angharad. And I would never have married just to have children – even though my family tried to persuade me to do exactly that – to produce an heir." A shadow of sadness flickered across his face. "I thought my heirs would be my nephews and nieces, but ... well ... there it is."

"There is magic for men ..."

"Oh-ho! No!" laughed Alphard. He sat next to Angharad and gave her the nausea potion. "I had lovers who offered to take potions." Angharad drank it down and then Alphard put the glass to his side. "I didn't want that."

"You don't approve of it?"

Alphard frowned. "I think ... deep down ... I knew I didn't truly love my partners. Asking any of them to undertake such life-changing magic when I knew none was my life partner would have been wrong, I think."

Angharad felt her eyes sting with tears. Alphard was such a gentle man and it seemed to her that life had denied him those ordinary happinesses others took for granted.

"If you had found Idris when you were younger then maybe ..."

"Ah," said Alphard, with a sad smile. "I think that would have been very different. But, no matter. At my age, it is a moot point. I will be happy to be part of this child's life and I will love her as my own, if I may." He patted Angharad's hands fondly.

"We are three, Alf. You will be a da to this child too," whispered Angharad and pressed a chaste kiss on Alphard's cheek. For no reason that made sense to him, he felt himself blush and they went back to work.

After they finished, Alphard set about finalising his tabulation of his results for Snape. Snape had an incisive mind, and Alphard did his best to collate all Snape's specifications into a well-ordered form. Given the extraordinary leaps in efficacy the balm had taken since Snape had contributed to the research, Alphard considered it behoved him to take the utmost care in the presentation of results to utilise Snape's time to best effect.

He also knew that Snape was endeavouring to look into the origins of the Lycanthropic Curse and his letters were full of fragments of information that he and Lupin were unearthing. Alphard couldn't imagine such an undertaking. He had read many, many books on werewolfism when Idris was first Turned, but he had never seen anything beyond Greek mythology. He wondered how far back in the mists of time Snape would need to go.

But more than that – he wondered how Snape even had the time: he was a professor at Hogwarts, a House Master, a spy and active Apothecary. It was extraordinary really. He was sure Lupin must be very proud.

The results fully tabulated, he set about his letter to accompany it. He couldn't wait to add the news about Angharad. He wondered what Snape and Lupin would think of it. Snape was a teacher, but he never spoke of his charges in his correspondence. Alphard wondered if Snape liked his job at all and, if not, why he didn't work within the Apothecary and Spell-Casting industry where Snape's skills were clearly second to none.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Alphard had been teaching some basis charms to the young children who had each demonstrated their basic charms for him and for Idris and Angharad who had come to watch their progress.

As Alphard finished, he saw Idris lay a protective hand on Angharad's belly and the spontaneous gesture warmed Alphard through, and then a question struck him.

"How is that that the Ministry does not know of these children? After all, they know when magic is cast. Where it is cast. Why do we receive no outraged visits from the Ministry?"

"Because these are not children to the Ministry, Alf." Angharad placed her palm over her stomach.

"What do you mean?" asked Alphard, his flesh prickling at what he thought was the answer.

"There will be no Trace placed on this child, as there would be none on a house-elf or a goblin. To the Ministry, this is a beast."

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Botolph had brought Snape's latest letter with further research notes. Alphard always felt a buzz of excitement to see Snape's developments and laid the notes out. At the bottom of the letter were effusive congratulations from Lupin. Alphard smiled to see the excitement, and then the rather formal addition by Snape of his own name to them. More interesting than that though was the post script asking Alphard for a clandestine meeting of great urgency.

At first, Idris refused, reluctant to let Alphard out of the camp after he had been captured by Greyback.

"Then let some werewolves accompany me," said Alphard. "He says it's important. You know the work he does."

"It's not our war," growled Idris, pulling Alphard closer. "Why can't he come here?"

"He can't, can he, Idris? He might be recognised, even if disguised," said Alphard gently, not wanting to chide Idris when he knew his objections only stemmed from worry for Alphard's own safety.

Idris's expression hardened at the thought of that weekend. He had not forgotten what he had done to Snape to injure him so he would pass muster for Riddle. He understood why Snape needed the injuries to verify his loyalty, but it had horrified Alphard. Nor had he forgotten Alphard's reaction to the violence of the trial of their prisoners.

He couldn't blame Alphard: he was not wolfkind to understand why their execution had been necessary, or why Hereward had sent news with the running wolves that the three traitors had tried to infiltrate his pack. News of their treachery had run ahead of them. They too had been tried. No Alpha wanted such Omegas in their pack, or them running renegade around the country.

That he loved Alphard with every ounce of his being, he never questioned. Sometimes he questioned whether Alphard considered him less than civilised. But Alphard always soothed him, pointing out that wizards could hardly be civilised when they sent their criminals to Azkaban where demons destroyed their minds and sapped their souls. Alphard had reassured him over and over that it was just adjustment to their ways that Alphard needed.

And now Snape needed to see Alphard – urgently, he said. And it was Idris who needed to adjust that these two wizards, each mated to wolfkind, had business to transact away from the safety of the pack – away from his own sharp eyes - when he had so nearly lost Alphard to Riddle. It was hard for Idris to relinquish control. He was Alpha, after all. After days of mild requests from Alphard, and not so mild insistence by Angharad, Idris agreed. He wanted to go with Alphard himself, but would not leave his pack. In all these years, he had never left Snowdonia. Instead, Idris put together a band of ten fighting werewolves to protect Alphard, and even then, he worried.

In the end, Snape arranged to meet Alphard at the busy Wizarding Exchange in Chester on the Welsh Marches. Alphard had been there as a young man with his father and his grandfather as they transacted business on bonds. It was still an imposing place, stuffed to its vaulted ceilings with wizards of privilege and wealth. He looked as if he fitted in, although he had little time for the way of life it upheld anymore.

Snape had chosen the ale house off the trading floor to meet Alphard saw him as soon as he entered and joined him in the booth in which he sat. His guard fanned out around them and Alphard drew the brocade curtains to give them privacy.

"Thank you for meeting me," said Snape and poured them both some ale.

"Not at all, although I confess I'm surprised that Remus isn't with you."

"He doesn't know I'm here. I haven't told him or Albus what I need to tell you."

"Oh?" Alphard was astonished that Snape was keeping secrets from both his mate and Dumbledore, but he would not judge until he knew why this was.

"If I tell them this, Remus will see it as his duty to assist and Albus will send Remus out ... well, it's taken me a long time to bring him back home. Being with the werewolves - the homeless Dark werewolves - erodes his self esteem, his – ah – gentle nature – I don't suppose I can make you understand. Idris and his pack are so very different from most werewolves. Civilised and ..."

"... human?" offered Alphard, with an understanding smile. Alphard thought he could understand. Everything he had previously read about werewolves had led him to expect that Idris would become a brute upon Turning. He clearly had not. The pack had rules of society just as much as any other society. It was true that the rules took into account some of the wolfish facets of their nature but it certainly was civilised. He also knew from the extended pack werewolves that Idris's pack was unusual. He wondered how much Lupin changed that made Snape so wary.

"The Dark Lord remains furious that Greyback failed in his mission to procure Idris and his pack. Greyback also informed him that we were there – two wizards with the pack." Alphard's eyebrows shot up. "Scent apparently – we didn't smell like werewolves. Don't worry. We were not identified. He expects to have the Ministry in his hands within months," said Snape. Alphard paled. "When he does, he wants Idris's pack destroyed, together with all the Light packs who refused his order to join him – even those that are neutral."

With that, Snape produced a small scroll.

"On this parchment are the packs that refused him: Sussex, Scafell Pike, Bodmin, the Ancients of Dartmoor, Birmingham. I need you to ask Idris to send out word with the running wolves of the danger so they are prepared for what may come."

"You think it will happen then? The Ministry will fall?" asked Alphard, aghast.

"The Dark Lord had a year unchallenged in which to recruit when Fudge refused to listen to reason. He made huge strides. He has people in place in the Ministry already ..."

"... but if you know who they are, can't you tell the ones you know are not in his pocket?" cried Alphard. "I don't understand this."

"Neither do I - on so many levels. Albus is the Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot, and yet this information is not shared. He believes that Scrimgeour is just as closed-minded as Fudge was, but for different reasons." Snape sighed. "Albus has his own plans, but I am not party to them."

"Thank you for warning us, Seth. Do you have any particular instructions or things which we should be vigilant for?" asked Alphard quietly.

"Be careful of strangers. Remus is no longer recruiting. The Dark Lord may well try infiltration as a tactic as he now knows the pack has strong ancient enchantments. But if the Ministry falls, all manner of powers for the breaking of enchantments will be available to them. You must shore up your defences. If I get word, I will send my Patronus so you are not taken unawares. At least then you will know the message comes from me." What Snape said next made the hair on Alphard's neck stand on end.

"When it comes, do not ignore it – no matter what you may then think of me then ..." Alphard saw Snape struggle to finish his sentence. He recognised it. He knew it was the Fidelius. He had seen it used before.

"What do you mean?" pressed Alphard, but Snape could only shake his head. Alphard raised his hands. He should not have pressed him. He poured Snape another ale and waited for him to continue. Then, Snape recovered himself, and removed his wand, and a piece of parchment.

"We need to conceal not only our experiments, but even your existence and certainly that I know you. I need to show you an enchantment for our correspondence. I will write short notes of little import to you, but when you cast this enchantment, it will reveal my true missive."

"Like the enchantment I saw you use when I was captured?" Alphard leaned forward with interest.

"Exactly so." Snape nodded and demonstrated the wand movement.

"When do we start using this?" Alphard said, as he practised the movement.

"Immediately," said Snape, ominously. Alphard felt the strange crawl of foreboding once more.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

Idris's horror at the news Alphard brought back was profound. Riddle in charge of the Ministry was too horrific to contemplate.

The three of them discussed it into the night. Idris even wondered whether they should leave the mountain that had been the pack's home for centuries, with its ancient enchantments. Perhaps cross the Irish Sea as St. Padraig had done before them and try to find a home in Ireland where no snakes could live.

In the morning, Idris called his Betas and his sons to him, and the leaders of all the satellite packs. Keeping Snape's name and connections secret, he told them he had heard the news that all the Light packs would be targeted within months. The news was to be taken at the earliest opportunity to the packs at risk so that they could all prepare for war.

IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB

The receipt of another missive with a phoenix feather from Dumbledore only seemed to ratchet up the tension that Idris felt. Dumbledore requested another meeting and Idris, now he knew why Dumbledore sought to protect the Wand of Destiny, was keen to know what plans he had made to protect it from Riddle.

They met once more that The Boar's Head, although this time, many werewolves surrounded the inn for protection.

"Idris and Alphard. I have a request to make of you," said Dumbledore after greetings were exchanged. "You will probably have surmised that my time grows short."

Alphard nodded. There was no denying that Dumbledore's pallor was less healthy. He was sure the curse would break Snape's bonds soon enough. Even so, that Dumbledore still lived after all these months was a testament to Dumbledore's strength as well as Snape's undoubted magical skill. Idris knew because there was the faintest scent of incipient death. The curse was working free, he knew. Dumbledore smiled faintly, resting back against the high-backed bench as he stroked his long beard thoughtfully.

"It may be that my demise will not be as you might expect. I cannot tell more than: all will not be as it seems," said Dumbledore after a while. Alphard and Idris looked at him quizzically and Idris was about to tell him to stop talking in riddles when Dumbledore held his hand up gently.

"I wish to entrust a testament to your care for me. It is not something I can reveal to you now as to do so would compromise decades of planning but I need to make provision." Dumbledore pulled an ornate crystal phial from his robe.

"What is it?" asked Idris, as Alphard carefully took the phial in which a silver substance was suspended, neither liquid nor gas.

"A memory," said Alphard.

"An enhanced memory," nodded Dumbledore. "Quite clever magic," he chuckled, but then he became serious.

"Wills, as you know are not private. They are filed with the Ministry and may be inspected by its officials. If my worst fears come to pass, the contents of this testament must not be known to the Ministry – until it is time."

"Time for what? And how will we know when it is time?" asked Alphard, his frown of incomprehension deepening.

"There is a conditional charm on it. Difficult to work, even for me, but certain events will activate it. I can tell you no more, but I hope it will be useful for what it to come and to ask you to tell no-one of this until that time comes."

"That's rather enigmatic, isn't it," said Alphard, rather disgruntled to receive so little information.

"I'm sorry I cannot be more forthcoming. To do so would endanger carefully laid plans. And lives. But I cannot think of two more trustworthy guardians for this task. Please accept it."

Alphard and Idris looked at each other. How could they do otherwise, when it was Dumbledore who had brought them back together. They both agreed. Dumbledore sat forward then, his piercing blue eyes fixing Idris.

"There is one other thing to which I need to attend with you," he said. "It is about your father's house."

"_Plas du_?" blurted Idris, confused by the turn in conversation.

"You may be aware that I knew your father – we served together on the Wizengamot. I found out from Alphard here what had happened to you, and then I discovered that Vereticus had registered your death with the Ministry." Idris looked away quickly, feeling the hurt well up inside, even after all this time. Alphard's hand wrapped over his own. He smiled weakly at Alphard and returned his attention to Dumbledore.

"Go on," he said softly.

"I bought _Plas du_ from Vereticus's estate after his death. I had hoped to find you, keep you in school and restore your home to you when you were of age. Well, we know I failed in that. I would at least like to restore your home to you now. Will you accept it? If so, I'd like to transfer it before my death so the Ministry does not enquire into it too closely."

"I knew there was a charm on it," murmured Idris to himself and then inhaled deeply to collect himself. "I will never set foot in that place again. I don't want it." Idris did not want a reminder of his father's rejection of him. Not a physical reminder. "Do what you will with it."

Dumbledore nodded sadly, but did not argue. "Very well," he said.

If Dumbledore was offended by Idris's gruffness, he didn't show it, but Idris felt a pang of shame for his ungrateful reaction and more than a little curiosity.

"Why did you do such a thing for a werewolf?"

"Were you not the same boy you had always been?" asked Dumbledore mildly.

"Aye," Idris said softly, "aye, I was." But he couldn't help wondering cynically if Dumbledore had factored into his decision that he was the boy who heard Wandsong. He considered asking, but Dumbledore made ready to depart.

"Afore ye go ..." said Idris urgently as Dumbledore pulled on his travelling cloak. "The Death Stick ... is it protected from Riddle?"

"I have taken care of it, but I can say no more than that. Please trust me on this, Idris. Now then ... there is much I have to do. Many things must be arranged before my death or the consequences will be difficult to juggle for those I leave behind." He stood. "I am sorry I have not had longer to spend in your company. I should have enjoyed getting to know more about your way of life." His countenance became soft. "I am pleased Remus and Severus have found allies in you and your pack. There are hard times ahead for them - hard times indeed."

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**Thanks to Smurny for reviewing.**

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	15. Under the Microscope

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: Sexually Explicit M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Under the Microscope**

Stacy, surrounded by the other Whitby Werewolves, brought the large, heavy crate back to Alphard's tent. Idris and Angharad were already there with Alphard who rushed to clear his desk to receive the box.

Alphard hurriedly removed all the packing straw from the box and then, as gently as he could, he removed the microscope. It was a hefty brass instrument and he set it up on the desk, using his wand to cast a spell to ensure it was level and then checked it was all together properly. Then he pulled out a box of different lenses.

Alphard knew huge strides had been made by Muggles in microscopy, but since he could not use electricity without his magic interfering with it, the microscope he had chosen was manual. However, he was able to use magic in place of electricity and he might be able to replicate some of the refinements of the technological advancements Muggles had made in the researches he had done.

Botolph leant over to look at the instrument.

"We used kids' ones of those when I was at primary school," he said. "Magnified creepy crawlies and stuff and we could see the hairs on their legs."

"Show Stacy?" the big man asked Alphard, who finished assembling some of the lenses. "Show Stacy hairs on crawlie legs."

Angharad craned her neck to look around Stacy's large form, and he looked embarrassed and ushered her in front of him.

"We could cast _Engorgio_ instead, couldn't we?" asked Conway.

"I don't wanna see a creepy crawlie so large I can count the hair on its legs," said Jethro, with a shudder. "Specially not a spider."

There was a general murmur of agreement and Idris stepped outside the tent and returned with a fly, a wasp and a spider, all Stunned, and passed them to Alphard who first placed the fly on the magnifying platform. Angharad pushed Stacy forward to look first. After Alphard adjusted the ocular lenses, Stacy cried out in excitement.

"Furry legs!" he said, breathlessly. "And wings like ... like ..." Stacy struggled to find the words he needed and then he smiled as he exclaimed, "Like pretty church glass!" And then he gasped again. "Eyes! Alf! Look at fly's eyes!"

Alphard suspected he would get little opportunity to use his microscope for blood cultures this day or, judging by the excitement in the tent, possibly the next either.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Time with the pack was gauged by the lunar cycle. Nothing else was as important. Those other indicators of passing time were just adjuncts to the moon. It surprised Alphard how he only thought in terms of lunar cycles now in anything he planned. Even his missives to Snape were written and sent at set times in the cycle.

In the first couple of days after the full moon, Alphard would use the medications prepared according to Snape's latest recipes on the elderly werewolves, and other werewolves who had sustained a transformation injury or an aggravation of an old transformation injury. He would note the effects in scrupulous detail and send the results on. By the new moon, when the werewolves should be at their strongest physically, Alphard recorded all the improvements once more. As the moon waxed and the curse began to assert itself in the werewolves, Alphard recorded how the change in werewolves' metabolisms seemed to affect the efficacy of the balms.

Alphard watched Stacy particularly carefully each full moon. He noted that Stacy was the only adult werewolf who was never injured, even mildly – much like the cubs of the pack. His transformation was easy, just like when he chose to transform beyond the limits of the moon.

It was as Alphard and Angharad practised _Aguamenti_ with Stacy that the revelation came. Once again, Stacy either failed to cast the spell correctly, or cast so hard that he drenched himself and his companions. Stacy howled with impotent rage. But this time, he was not distracted when Alphard changed into the white dog. He continued to howl, and the howl became more wolfish as it continued.

Alphard quickly changed back and he and Angharad watched in horrified fascination as Stacy began to change – but not fully – not the easy transition from man to wolf, but slowly, each part of the transformation slow and deliberate until he was half-man and half-wolf.

Alphard began to raise his wand protectively, but Angharad, her faith in Stacy perfect, pressed his wand hand downward.

Stacy stood panting and growling in his frustration and now looked at the wand in his claw-like grip and incanted _Aguamenti_ in a guttural voice so different from his own, but perfectly enunciated. The spell worked to controlled perfection and clear water arced from Stacy's wand.

A fractured wolf. Alphard wondered if Snape knew of anything like it.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

The running wolf before Idris was named Jameson. Whether that was his first name or his family name, Idris didn't know and as Jameson didn't offer any more, Idris didn't ask. He and three companions brought a message from Hereward of the Ancients of Dartmoor. The message was charmed so none could hear it but the Alpha of the Snowdon pack.

Leaving the three companions with his Betas, Idris took the werewolf and the message to the clearing. He cast a containment charm around the two of them to make sure that, if the message contained a hex or Dark curse, its activation would be contained within the charm and only Idris and Jameson would be affected.

Casting, Idris incanted a identification charm and touched his wand to the parchment, and the deep voice of Hereward resonated in the air.

_"Greetings, Keigwin of the Snowdon pack, Idris. Two of these messengers came to me from Albany of the Scafell Pike pack and I am sending this message on with them and two of my pack._

_"Since the ones who betrayed you to Greyback were tried by this pack, we have received greetings from Sussex and Bodmin. Greyback had tried to place spies in both. The spies have been tried. I have had two infiltrations since. The first couple of werewolves escaped, but not the next._

_"He-we-don't-name seeks a werewolf army. He seeks our aid and makes grand promises. He also seeks you above all else. If you fall, so do we all._

_"All is lies. Be vigilant." _

Idris's mouth was set in a grim line as he cast _Finite Incantatem._

"We travel back once you've had this message," said Jameson. Idris's eyes flicked back to him from his reverie, and only then noticed how haggard the werewolf looked.

"Did it take long to get here?" asked Idris.

"Hereward is suspicious of Apparition – says the Ministry will find us with it. So we run."

"Run? Well, why not a broom then?"

Jameson looked sheepish.

"Never very good at flying. I was born wolfkind. The ground is where I belong."

"Rest here the night and be fed then," Idris said gruffly as he removed the charm from them.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Angharad was blossoming. _But of course she is!_ thought Alphard, with a smile. She was the very dearest of women, the sister Alphard had longed for these many decades.

That she and Idris had told him he would be a father figure was an extraordinary thing. It was something he had never hoped to have for himself. He didn't think anyone could understand how he felt for those two dear people. The child would be his too, and this was the thing that almost confounded him.

He was not related to the child by blood, but by the Claim of Idris that suffused both Alphard and Angharad. The thought of it made him tingle with pleasure. How could he have ever hoped that a third of a whole could be so very fulfilling?

"Up you get," said Alphard, as he helped Angharad off the bed where he had just given her a check-up. She was nearly five months' pregnant and showing quite nicely. All her vital signs were good, and the baby's were strong too. Alphard had to admit, all the pregnant werewolves seem to be much healthier than their witch counterparts of his knowledge. So far, in his time with the pack, there had been no pregnancy with complications and the births had always been trouble-free. Angharad would always be at a birth as the pack mother, but Alphard, as Healer, was never required.

He remembered reading how robust female werewolves were and how this was a benefit conferred by the curse to ensure its perpetuation in the next generation. This provoked even more questions for Alphard.

Did the baby Angharad carried transform? When Angharad was a wolf, was the child a cub _in utero_? Alphard couldn't deny that the question fascinated him. If the baby didn't transform, wouldn't the host body for that night become an inhospitable, poisonous place?

He wondered this because he had been testing blood under the magical microscope. The blood of untransformed werewolves was human, although he had identified an alien component he believed to be the Lycanthropic curse. He tested the blood of a transformed werewolf (which had not been collected fresh, of course). He had found canine erythrocyte antigens, and magnified and active Lycanthropic cells. It stood to reason that if the child did not transform, she would be poisoned by her mother's blood.

He so dearly wanted to know but, as the giant white dog during the full moon, he would not be able to find out.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

"Never thought on it afore," said Idris. "But since he said it, I realised that I'd never seen a born werewolf fly a broom."

"How long has it been since you've flown a broom?" Alphard asked, leaning his head on his hand as he lay beside Idris in bed, realising he had seen none at the roundhouse. He had one in his luggage, although he had not even unpacked it.

Idris blinked as he thought and then frowned.

"Don't believe I have since ... since school," he said softly then he pulled Alphard down to him, and kissed him. "I remember you flew well." Idris smiled indulgently at Alphard. "And you liked Quidditch but wouldn't play."

"Not wouldn't ..." sighed Alphard.

/

_Pollux Black did not approve of games. _

_He had not played Quidditch and his sons would not play Quidditch. The heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would be be sensible and staid. However, the heir should be proficient in that most wizardly of transports, so Alphard was encouraged to fly. _

_In the second year, Alphard took his new, top-of-the-range FlyWell Mark II to school, and Idris brought his older LightningSwitch. At their first opportunity, when other hopefuls were trying out for the Quidditch teams, Alphard and Idris sneaked away and just practised flying, both of them relishing the thrill of swooping and diving around each other, going as fast, as high and as low as they dared. Every Saturday morning, that was how they would spend their time, chasing each other around the grounds of Hogwarts and, as they got older and more confident, chasing each other into the Forbidden Forest to use the trees as an obstacle course._

_Alphard couldn't deny though that when he used to watch the school teams play, a thrill of excitement in his guts pushed at him to play. _

_"Why don't you try for the team? You want to." Idris laughed heartily, as they watched from the Hufflepuff stands for the first Slytherin match of their fifth year, Alphard practically hanging over the balustrade in excitement._

_"I couldn't, Idris," Alphard cried, breathlessly, watching the Slytherin chasers swooping around the Ravenclaw chasers to pass the Quaffle. "Walburga would tell and my father would ..." Alphard broke off and then laughed nervously, but then took in Idris's look that quickly became one of dismay. "He'd be cross," he finished weakly. "I'm not allowed to play games. You know what my father says, 'Contact sports are for thick-bloods and thick heads.'" Alphard deepened his voice in mockery._

_Idris laughed, "Muggle-borns and Malfoys?"_

_"Not quite his word for the first, but spot-on for the second!" Alphard grinned as Abraxas Malfoy chose that moment to be felled from his broom by a well-aimed Ravenclaw Bludger, and then feeling that now familiar flip in his stomach when Idris smiled back, his dark eyes merry._

_Idris's hand found Alphard's underneath his heavy winter cloak and gave it a squeeze._

_The next day, Idris stole into the Quidditch equipment store and borrowed a Quaffle and they chased each other through the forest passing the Quaffle to each other around the largest trees they could find until they were worn out and laughing with exhaustion._

_They alighted in a clearing, more falling off their brooms than dismounting, breathless and exhilarated. Idris was the first to stand and took Alphard's broom and his own and looked around the clearing until his eyes alighted on one particular tree, standing apart from the others._

_Idris took two steps towards it, as if mesmerised, and dropped their brooms on the forest floor._

_"Come and see, Alf."_

_He reached out his hand and Alphard grasped it and Idris pulled him onto his feet. They went to the tree together. Idris pressed his hands and his forehead against the trunk and felt the wood reverberate through his body and its song in his heart and mind. _

_"Such a song," murmured Idris. "The purity of the rowan." He opened his eyes, a warmth swelling in his chest. "The sweetest Wandsong."_

_Alphard laid his hand on Idris's shoulder, moved by the emotion he heard in Idris's voice, although he could not hear the song that had moved Idris so._

_Idris looked at Alphard, his dark eyes intense and wrapped his hands behind Alphard's head to bring him in for a kiss. A long kiss, savouring the taste of each other as their minds became blank of any other thought other than the taste of each other as they kissed as only young lovers can – lingering and searching, penetrative of the body and of the soul, conveying their passion and their inexperience._

_It was Alphard who moved so their bodies pressed firmly against each other. It was Alphard who removed first Idris's belt and then his own, never breaking the kiss. It was Alphard who opened their robes so their skins could touch, each youth gasping in the kiss at the feel of flesh and their erections together._

_The delicious sensations galvanised Idris from his trance-like state and he manoeuvred Alphard so he was pressed against the rowan tree by Idris's broader body as they stroked each other's skin with their fingers, light touches all that was required to fire their sensitive young skin, skimming each other's ribs and softly tantalising each other's nipples until Alphard wrapped his hand around Idris's erection, making Idris moan and then find Alphard's too. They only needed the lightest of pressure to make themselves almost painfully hard as each stroked each other gently at first, but then more firmly and quickly as each assented and encouraged with delirious deep-throated murmurs and groans, their free hands grasping each other's skin, even as their kiss became as erratic as their hands, now the need for release burning brightly in them until each cried as they came hot and hard against each other's stomachs and hands. And still they kissed, breathlessly but seeming to breathe each other in, until their bodies were calm once more._

_As they broke this longest of kisses, Idris murmured into Alphard's mouth, "The sweetest kiss."_

/

"The sweetest kiss," murmured Alphard as they both recalled the memory.

"It was the sweetest Wandsong that chose Angharad as my mate," Idris said.

"Tell me," asked Alphard.

/

_It had been five years since the brutal murder of Bronwen. Her sons, Iolo, Ieuan and Medwyn were becoming men before Idris's eyes and the pack began to stir once more that its Alpha must take a mate._

_He didn't want another. His heart had been broken three times with each of his losses: of Alphard, of Megan and of Bronwen. For a long time, he wondered whether to let himself be beaten in the challenge and leave the pack as a lone wolf, just so he would not have to be hurt again. _

_But he never wondered that for long. The pack was his family; it had protected and supported him all these years. That he was Alpha was in his blood. He never turned down the challenge when it came; he always fought his hardest for his pack; their woes were his, as were their happinesses. To be without his pack now would be the greatest grief of all. He acquiesced once more. His eldest sons sent runners to the other Great Packs of Wales._

_It was a glorious autumn day when the Snowdon pack received five women and their bodyguards from the Brecon pack. All were in their early twenties – old for werewolves to be unmated. But there had been a terrible battle five years before with Greyback's pack and many young male werewolves from Brecon had died. The pack would probably die out at this rate, so their Alpha had sent these to Idris as prospective mates._

_They had a feast as autumn had seen the harvest reaped and there was plenty. The Brecon werewolves joined in and Idris watched them all, hoping that he could find amongst them one to be a pack mother and his helpmeet. _

_Each was a fine woman, as far as Idris could see. None was shy or faltering. They all spoke more than he did. But there was one who caught his eye, not just because she was pretty, for indeed she was, but because her smile was true. She had warm, brown eyes that sparkled when she laughed and a way of speaking that spoke of a quick mind. And Idris couldn't help but notice her long dark hair._

_He asked for her wand. Her Wandsong would tell him everything about her: whether she was true or false; Light or Dark; strong or weak; loving or selfish; clever or dull. Her wand would reveal all._

_She passed it to him without demur._

_Rowan and Unicorn hair. His fingers trembled as he took the wand and heard the sweetest song sing to him._

_And remembered the sweetest kiss of another with long dark hair. _

_His mate was chosen in that instant, and the passing years showed that the rowan wand had not lied to him._

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

It was in May that Alphard noticed that Snape had not answered four of Alphard's letters, including the one that usually contained the most information: the full moon letter. Snape was a diligent correspondent and wrote at least once a week, always with results and new approaches and new recipes to try or improvements to existing remedies.

Knowing the nature of what Snape did, Alphard was worried. But surely, if something had happened to Snape, they would hear from Lupin. Perhaps not. If something happened to both of them, who would tell their friends in the Snowdon pack?

_Dear Friend, _Alphard wrote.

_I hope this letter finds you both well. I have not heard from you for weeks. I confess I am concerned. Please write so we know that all is well ..._

He had so much news he wanted to share with the only other person who shared his professional and personal interest in the promotion of health in werewolves – in their particular werewolves. He told Snape about Angharad's ongoing pregnancy and his theories, about Stacy's strange adaptation, about his discoveries about Lycanthropic blood.

He had tested his own blood as a wizard and as a dog, but found no canine blood components even as a dog. It proved to him that his transformation was but a mere transfiguration, unlike those endured by his pack-mates. But he also found minute traces of the Lycanthropic cells, just as Snape had suspected. He replicated the slides and copied it all into his letter for Snape, his own mind a riot of speculation on their inoculation theory and whether it could be extended to a cure.

To his delight, within days this time, he received a detailed response from Snape, brisk and business-like as usual. Snape asked questions on Lupin's behalf, but Alphard couldn't help but notice that Lupin didn't write his own usual post script. When he worked through all Snape's computations, he noted there was no new information about Lupin's full moon transformation. He frowned when he realised these things that hinted at absence. Perhaps Lupin was on missions once more?

After the June full moon, their exchange of letters began to yield some stunning results with transformation injuries and Alphard began to wonder whether they might be within a stone's throw of a decelerant that would assist all werewolves to a longer lifespan.

Alphard collated his most recent figures and results and sent them onto Snape for further analysis. With the latest adjustments, Alphard was very much hoping Snape could crack it! He paced each morning waiting for Botolph to bring him news.

Within days, news came, but such news as Alphard could never have dreamt in his worst nightmares.

Botolph and Jethro came running, wild-eyed and breathless.

"What is it?" said Alphard, a flutter of panic, as he quickly looked about himself to check the whereabouts of Idris and Angharad and strode towards them.

"News! News from The Boar's Head" gasped Botolph. "Give it to him!"

As Idris ran to them, Jethro thrust _The Daily Prophet_ into Alphard's hands. The first thing he saw was a photograph of Dumbledore, benign and eyes twinkling, and next to it, a photograph of Snape, black eyes intense and a scowl on his lips.

**Wanted for Questioning for the Murder of Albus Dumbledore!**

Alphard felt his reality shift unpleasantly beneath his feet, even as he heard Idris swear profanely next to him.

_No! It couldn't be!_

* * *

**Thanks to Illayne, Smurny, strix noctis, Aynslesa and asiacheetah for reviewing. **

**Please read & review. **


	16. Re-acquaintance

**Disclaimer: The Potterverse is owned by JKR.  
Wandsong and Idris Lydiard and his pack are all mine.**

* * *

Warning: M/M. Don't like, please don't read.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Re-acquaintance**

Idris stormed to the store of balms and potions Alphard and Angharad had created from Alphard's and Snape's collaboration.

"Destroy it all!" he snarled, raising his wand. "He's Riddle's man. He's probably poisoned us already!"

"Stop!" cried Angharad, as Alphard threw himself in front of Idris as he made ready to blast their supplies.

Idris's dark eyes blazed at this disobedience from his mates. He wasn't the type of werewolf who was violent or oppressive but that which was Alpha in his blood boiled at this obstruction and he growled low in his throat at both. Angharad flinched, but Alphard did not, although he did not draw his own wand.

"I don't believe it," said Angharad, softly. "I just don't. I know Seth Moore."

"We thought we did. He's a spy. A liar by profession!"

"And _we're_ supposed to be liars by nature!" bit back Angharad. "We _know_ him!"

"Idris," Alphard said, his hand outstretched in appeal. "Remember Dumbledore's last meeting with us?" Alphard raised his eyebrows questioningly. "That his death would not be as it seemed ... I think he knew. He wanted us to know. He said he was pleased Remus and Seth had found allies in us and that there would be hard times for them. Don't you remember?" Alphard pleaded.

"That's a leap! A leap that could see us all killed by slow-acting poison," spat Idris.

"We could ask Remus Lupin," suggested Angharad.

"A murderer's mate!" Idris shouted, and moved forward, raising his arm to push Alphard out of the way, but Alphard pushed back.

"I won't let you destroy all this work, Idris!"

"It could be killing us!" Idris roared.

"I'm a Healer! I know what to look for in poisons ..."

"And me!" exclaimed Angharad. "I see such differences in our pack with these medicaments. Look at our old ones – how much less they suffer – how much more they can do! Don't let fear cloud your sharp eyes and senses. You can smell they're healthier, just as I can."

Idris's breathing began to calm as his dark eyes darted from mate to mate – the two he loved so well. They would not deceive him. But they could _be_ deceived.

"No," said Idris, with finality. "I can't take that chance." And with that pronouncement, he pulled Alphard out of the way and cast a wide charm, but he did not destroy Alphard and Angharad's months of work, but locked it so none could use it. "Not until I have proof. Riddle's a deceiver. He'll stop at nothing. I must have proof that Seth Moore is Light."

Idris stormed from the tent, leaving Alphard and Angharad gaping after him, knowing that, under the roundhouse's ancient enchantments, layered over centuries by the pack's Alphas, the Alpha's charms would hold and could not be broken.

Alphard spent hours thinking as he re-read all of Snape's letters and notes. He recalled how there had been a hiatus in their correspondence and that Lupin had stopped adding his personal notes to Snape's letters. That had to mean something too. He retrieved the ornate phial that Dumbledore had entrusted to him and turned it between his fingers. Dumbledore had said there would be a sign at the time when this was needed so, clearly, that was not this time.

But these balms and potions spoke volumes to Alphard about the intent of Snape. They had trusted him because he was mated to wolfkind and they had a common cause. Snape had helped to rescue Alphard – at great physical cost to himself. Could that really have been a triple bluff? Alphard found that hard to believe.

He wondered whether to chance a message. But to where? Snape clearly wasn't at Hogwarts. The newspaper said he was missing, and Alphard didn't know if he had any other address. A Patronus perhaps? Bad idea – who knew who he might be with.

Alphard's mouth dropped open and he slammed the heel of his hand against his desk at the force of the revelation. How could he have been so stupid to forget? He ran from his tent in search of Idris and found him drilling a large group of werewolves in defensive spells and manoeuvres like a man possessed. Alphard stood to one side and waited patiently, knowing Idris desperately needed to _do something_ about the threat that loomed so heavily over them.

For a while, Idris seemed to ignore him. Alphard didn't mind: he knew Idris had to protect his pack – his blood and his curse compelled him to do it. The compulsion was irresistible.

After half an hour standing to one side, noting how Idris occasionally glanced to where Alphard stood patiently, Idris said gruffly, "Alf, come and show how you do the wand movement for _Impedimentia_."

Alphard, of course, had had duelling lessons when he was young: all Black children did. His wand movements had finesse, and all the more power and pinpoint accuracy for it. Just small deviations from standard practice, but it was enough to make a difference. Alphard didn't smile at Idris's move to include him. He kept his expression sombre as he took his place beside Idris and began to instruct the group.

They worked hard for hours, drilling until the chosen spells were learnt by rote and the movement worked into muscle memory. Idris dismissed the werewolves and grasped Alphard's shoulder and steered him back to the tent. Alphard didn't object. The sooner he could get Idris on his own, the sooner he could tell Idris he had the proof he needed.

"Alf," Idris said as they gained the privacy of Alphard's tent, "ye have to understand ... I don't say this to spite you. If ye're wrong ..."

"Seth's Patronus!" Alphard interrupted, his face breaking into a grin.

"What of it?"

"Well, for a start – he has one!" Alphard exclaimed. Idris frowned in confusion. "You know what kind of wizards I came from, Idris! I know that Dark wizards don't ... _can't_ conjure a Patronus – partly because they have no need – Dementors and they are of the same ilk, you see," Alphard explained with distaste. "But also, immersion in the Dark Arts prevents it - tarnishes the memories needed for the Conjuration. Seth _has_ a Patronus – a woodland creature - he cast his with us!

"He and Remus Lupin taught the pack to fend off the Dementors," added Idris quietly, mulling this over. Alphard nodded enthusiastically.

"And his wand? You heard his wand?"

"It has been a Dark wand in its time. It has the taint. But old taint," murmured Idris, then he turned to Alphard. "He bonded his wand to always serve his mate."

Alphard couldn't hide his surprise that Snape had taken such a drastic step but, given what he knew of Snape's duality as a spy, perhaps that had been necessary as a layer of protection for Lupin – and surely demonstrated his love of his mate. He told Idris so.

"I don't doubt his loyalty to his mate, Alf. It's his loyalty to Riddle I fear!"

"When he helped us in January, he was not immersed in Dark Arts. I don't believe he was a follower of Riddle then. And I don't believe a follower of Riddle would have warned us to prepare for attack or worked as hard on easing the transformations of werewolves." Alphard reached out and smoothed his thumbs over the scars on Idris's face. "Dumbledore trusted him, and he has helped me to help the pack. Please Idris. Trust him."

Idris held Alphard's hands with his own and brought him towards himself, kissing him fiercely, possessively and protectively, and yet proudly, because under the possessive wolf was the wizard who had always admired the intelligence and talent of Alphard Black and trusted his intuition, and who loved him with something beyond passion, even as his fingers sought out the buttons of Alphard's robes to demonstrate just how much.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

Idris conceded that Alphard and Angharad could use the balms and potions, but Alphard's next request, as he and Idris lay side by side, met with stunned amazement.

"You want to go to his funeral? At Hogwarts? You could be recognised! Then what?"

"Had Dumbledore not written, I would not be here with you. I should pay our respects – for both of us."

Idris glared, his dark eyes baleful, as if willing Alphard to give up his request, even though he knew Alphard was as stubborn as he.

"Our respect – it's not much to ask," said Alphard, quietly, placing a gentle kiss on his mate's mouth. "For giving you back to me."

"Very well. But ye take a bodyguard."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

In the end, the remaining members of the band, Conway, Jethro, Freddie and Zebedee were assigned, being the most recently acquainted with the Wizarding world. Alphard applied a Glamour to his instantly recognisable Black features: he couldn't know who would be there, but it was possible there would be attendees of the same age. Conway was Irish and had been educated at Galway Bay Academy of Magic before he was bitten, the others had been home educated. Alphard was satisfied that his bodyguard would not be recognised as werewolves unless, of course, there were fans of the Whitby Werewolves in attendance.

Alphard's guard were excited about visiting Hogwarts. They'd heard of the famous wizarding school all of their lives. Conway was almost dancing with anticipation, despite the sombre occasion, as they joined the crowds arriving on the day of the funeral. Aurors were in abundance at the great entrance gates, but their inspection of attendees' wands was cursory. Alphard suspected they were looking for certain particular wands. As they inspected his wand and those of his companions, he looked up at the two columns topped with statues of winged boars. He'd almost forgotten how dear, and yet how dread, the place became to him – the scene of his love, and the loss of his love. How easily all the feelings came back after all these years.

Alphard passed through, and he was assailed with myriad memories of his school years so many, many years ago. He and the others walked with along the long, winding entrance path. He could have taken one of the many carriages pulled by Thestrals – by Thestrals? He hadn't noticed that when he was a school. They could only be seen by those who had seen death. He had been lucky enough not to have seen death – at that time, at least. Although he had known loss – grievous loss.

He walked slowly, trying to take in as much as he could – how much had changed - and low little. The disparate crowd did not go to the castle itself, but were guided out to the Black Lake. Alphard could almost picture Idris running into the Lake all those decades ago. He wished Idris were with him, but knew his place was with the pack.

Seats were set out in rows with an aisle down the centre and they were filling up. Alphard and the Whitby Werewolves sat to the far side and Alphard looked around himself. Most there were younger than he, but recognised some faces but none would recognise him.

Over by the Lake itself, all of the Hogwarts ghosts, almost invisible in the bright sunshine, stood. He remembered them all and then he saw two who had not been dead when he had attended school: Professor Binns and another one – one who was made when he was still at school.

"Myrtle?" he ventured, taking a tentative step towards the ghosts. He removed his Glamour, not that she would recognise him after all these years.

The ghostly plump girl peered at him through her thick glasses and then floated towards him.

"I should know you ... but you're so old," she said.

"Yes, it's been many years, Myrtle. I don't remember you being ... well, a ghost after you died."

"Oh, I wasn't at school," she simpered. "I haunted Olive Hornby. I followed her everywhere. But then I was exorcised from her presence and found myself back here." She simpered again.

_Poor Myrtle,_ thought Alphard. He remembered her as a bright Ravenclaw, but terribly unpopular. If memory served, Riddle had started a whispering campaign against her because she was Muggle-born, and told all who would listen that her unattractive physical appearance was because of her 'dirty blood'. Idris had been furious, as his own mother was a Muggle-born witch. Between Riddle's whispering campaign and her own unfortunate propensity to succumb to tears for every slight, real or imagined, Riddle had found a perfect target.

And Olive had been his most willing accomplice. Yes, Alphard remembered now how Olive had trailed after the handsome prefect, fawning on his every word. He wondered what happened to her. Did she ever feel remorse for her hounding of a fellow pupil? He wondered whether she had followed Riddle further. Alphard said none of this aloud. Instead, he smiled at Myrtle, and she hesitantly smiled back.

"Do you like it here? Wouldn't you prefer to -"

"Move on?" Myrtle snorted in an unladylike manner. Then her bottom lip trembled. Alphard remembered that she was always crying in classes. "Sometimes, I think I would, but I never seem to be able to concentrate on moving on long enough before something upsets me ... you have to be prepared for the onward journey, you see."

"Yes, Myrtle. I see," said Alphard kindly.

"Shh," she said, raising a pudgy finger to her lips. "It's time."

As he had been speaking to Myrtle, the pupils and staff of the school had taken their places and now the Merpeople sang a lament for Dumbledore. Alphard thought it was such a sound to haunt his dreams and he took his own seat.

Alphard's head snapped back to see Hagrid bearing Dumbledore's body clad in purple cloth. Alphard quickly took his seat, and with the Whitby Werewolves, he sat attentively whilst the eulogy was paid and a white tomb was cast around Dumbledore's body. It had been touching.

Alphard's eyes were drawn to Rubeus, noisily crying at the back, seated next to a full giant in a suit. Alphard had to blink to ensure his eyes did not deceive him. He drew breath and almost went to speak to Rubeus – but the half-giant's grief seemed almost bigger than he was. Perhaps it was just as well that Alphard did not make himself known. Still, it was strange to see him, after all these years. He and Idris used to speak to him in the Dark Forest. Idris was as at home there as Rubeus – they often talked about the trees and the creatures, although they were not great friends. Rubeus had been blamed for the death of Myrtle. Sirius had since told him it was a basilisk unleashed by Riddle. Alphard should have known Riddle was behind such an evil. He knew Dumbledore had installed Rubeus as Keeper of the Keys and Grounds when Dumbledore became Headmaster. Dumbledore had a history of expressing his faith in those he trusted, but others did not. Surely, this was all the more reason to trust Snape with his adopted family's welfare.

Then, he caught a glimpse of Lupin next to a witch with pink hair. He looked haggard, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders.

Should he make himself known? He saw Lupin talk to a badly disfigured red headed man – a man who had similar facial scars to Idris's. Then the party got up to depart. Alphard fell back and motioned to the Whitby Werewolves to stay silent when he saw they started forward to greet Lupin. Alphard only had to look at the man to see his grief was deep, and Alphard suspected it was not just for Dumbledore.

Perhaps, Alphard had been wrong to trust in Snape. He felt a chill settle in his bones as he and his guard walked behind the group before them.

"Tonks!" Alphard turned abruptly to see who had called his niece's husband. A man in Auror's robes strode up ... to the witch with pink hair!

This was his great niece? The newcomer spoke to her earnestly and he watched as her hair turned from pink to brown. In that instant, Alphard saw her resemblance to her mother. Then her hair turned jet black and her eyes darkened in concentration, and he saw her demented aunt. Alphard's breath caught in his throat.

As soon as the two had finished conversing, Alphard resolved. He had to meet her and make himself known to Lupin too.

"Remus!" he called. Lupin turned and, at first, he didn't see past Alphard's Glamour. Alphard walked to him and only when they were face to face did Alphard briefly remove his Glamour long enough for Lupin to recognise him and grasp his hand in both of his in desperate welcome.

"Alphard, I am so glad to see you," said Lupin, his voice strained.

One by one, the Whitby Werewolves shook hands with Lupin and he quickly explained to his companions that he had worked with them once before, but he kept Alphard's identity to himself. This limited explanation seemed satisfactory to his companions, clearly used to Lupin's peripatetic work with his activities with the werewolf packs.

His great niece moved forward then and looped her arm through Lupin's, although he did not appear comfortable with the gesture.

"Wotcher," she said. "Call me Tonks."

Alphard removed his Glamour fully and watched confusion cover her face at his familiar features.

"I most certainly will not. You are Nymphadora, and I was at your Christening. I am your great uncle, Alphard Black." He watched as she gaped like a fish (something her mother never would have done) and it made him smile. "However, I'll call you Dora, if that's preferable to Nymphadora – which it surely must be. Although – 'gift of the nymphs' – is that really so bad?"

Tonks's smile was slow to appear, but when it did, it was charming.

"Uncle Alphard, I had no idea you were still alive." Then she giggled, and her eyes sparkled pretty shades of violet. "Great Uncle Alphard!"

"Oh, no, I don't think I like that at all," laughed Alphard, as the Whitby Werewolves guffawed at his expense. Lupin only smiled, a weak smile that clearly cost him effort.

She giggled again, turning between Alphard and Lupin.

"Please, Uncle Alphard – will you and your friends come back with us – have lunch perhaps? I would so like to talk to you." She now looped her arm through Alphard's. "There's so much I want to know." She looked lovingly at Lupin then, much to Alphard's confusion. "And so much I'd like to tell you."

Alphard's eyes flicked questioningly to Lupin, but Lupin's eyes slid away as if he couldn't bear to meet Alphard's gaze.

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

His great niece's flat was mess, but they all piled in. It quickly became apparent to Conway that Tonks had little skill in the kitchen, and the Whitby Werewolves worked with Tonks to put together a lunch of sandwiches, fruit and tea, discussing the latest music as they worked under her cheerful instruction.

"Where is Severus?" asked Alphard quietly of Lupin who sat in the corner, seemingly distracted and miserable, nothing like the proactive man Alphard had met in the pack. Alphard kept his voice low so the young folk in the kitchen wouldn't hear him – he didn't like to cast a Privacy Charm in another's home, especially when he'd only just met his great niece for the first time in over twenty years.

"Severus? I don't know, Alf. I don't know where he is. I can't find him." His eyes were sad, and Alphard noticed his hands trembled slightly.

"You're not well, Remus."

Lupin shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"May I?" asked Alphard, raising his wand to cast over Lupin. Lupin made a desultory gesture of agreement and then dropped his head in his hands.

"Severus killed Albus."

Alphard's wand hung in the air, his incantation stopped on his lips.

"So it's true then?" Alphard said, tasting the bile of betrayal.

Lupin nodded slowly, as if the gesture caused him pain.

"Harry saw it happen. There's no doubt Severus cast the curse." Lupin's voice was thick with emotion, but then he sat forward suddenly, his eyes haunted and earnest. "But our Bond hasn't broken, Alf. Our Bond says he's true, but he left me and I cannot find him. Even our elf cannot tell me where he is!" Lupin had grasped his own upper arm, and Alphard remembered the bonding circlets he'd seen on the men when they had slept in his tent. Alphard's jaw clenched as he tried to understand: he knew the Bonds were deep earth magic and they could not be deceived. Snape must be true – but he had left Lupin heartbroken nonetheless. It made no sense.

Alphard began his diagnostic incantations again. Lupin was badly run down, but his naked eye told him that. His charms told him more was amiss than a broken heart.

"Look at me, Remus," said Alphard, and he shone his wand in Lupin's eyes and frowned as he cast again. Potions misuse – no doubt about it, and quite recently. There had been no trace of this back in January. Perhaps, Lupin was using Potions to self-medicate his undoubted depression. But there was more. The gentlest brush of Legilimency confirmed it: a poorly worked Memory Charm. Who had worked it? Snape, maybe?

"Remus, may I look into your thoughts ..." he ventured.

"No!" Lupin spat, and then looked startled and apologetic. "No, I'm sorry, Alf. I can't let you ... not that." Lupin rubbed at his temples distractedly.

"I'm sorry. Of course, I won't." Lupin's reaction confirmed it. Alphard had seen this many times in his career as a Healer. A poorly worked Memory Charm caused confusion in the victim, and defensiveness against further mental intrusion. Werewolves were known to be resistant to mind magic. Eventually, the Charm would break, but in the meantime, Alphard wondered what Lupin was being prevented from remembering.

"So!" Tonks said brightly, leading the Whitby Werewolves into the living room, carrying trays of food and drink between them. Lupin sat back in his chair, and smiled wanly at Tonks. "The guys have been telling me about the pack in Snowdon." She knelt between Lupin's legs and draped an arm over his leg.

Alphard sat, confused by what he was seeing. His great niece's affection for Lupin was clear for all to see, but Lupin didn't reciprocate. That was also clear.

"I mean, I'd heard some from Remus when he reported way back. Remus told me about Idris and you – you two who loved each other all these years."

Alphard nodded and smiled at her romanticism.

"What does Idris call you then?"

"Alf. He has always called me Alf," he replied, almost shyly.

"And you found each other after all these years?" she said happily, turning to smile at Lupin as this confirmed something.

"Yes. Through Dumbledore."

"And no-one ever matched up to him?"

"No-one. He was always mine, you see."

Tonks blinked fast.

"You are so like Sirius," she said, her smile faltering a little.

"I believe he was like me," Alphard said, with a teasing smile.

"You see?" Tonks turned to Lupin. "Sometimes, it's just fate."

Alphard didn't understand, but he could see Lupin was not comfortable. He looked questioningly at Tonks.

"Remus is always trying to put me off him – he says I could do better – have someone younger, less dangerous," she said flippantly. "He refuses to see that I don't care he's a werewolf – just like you don't care Idris is a werewolf and that he already had a mate, and ... and Mum doesn't care that Dad's Muggle-born."

"Being Muggle-born is hardly the same as being a werewolf, Dora. And you don't have to fall for someone _because_ they're different," Lupin said, and Alphard heard the most desperate weariness in his tone, as if he were somehow a prisoner, and then Lupin gave Alphard a warning look and Alphard realised he was not to mention Snape.

"I don't! That's a terrible thing to say, Remus."

"David was a werewolf and now ..."

"This has nothing to do with David!" Tonks barked.

The room went silent with embarrassment, and Alphard remembered a young man called David – a young werewolf who Alphard had nearly hexed when he had mentioned Sirius – who had come to the Snowdon pack with the Whitby Werewolves in fact and of whom they had never heard again.

"It has everything to do with David," said Lupin, so quietly it was almost inaudible. Tonk's smile fell and her hair began to fade.

"You can't back out now. We agreed." With the contrary look of a petulant child, Tonks jutted out her chin and turned to Alphard. "It's only wedding jitters." She laughed nervously as she looked at each of her guests. "Remus and I are to be married, Uncle."

"Dora," Lupin said quietly. "Listen to me ..."

"Ah ... congratulations," Alphard said, but he stood quickly, realising he was intruding on something very private indeed, and he had been absent from his family too long to be part of this conversation. "But I think we should be going."

Tonks scrambled clumsily to her feet. "Don't go yet, Uncle Alphard." She pulled Alphard in to her kitchen as Lupin shepherded the Whitby Werewolves to the front door. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just ... these past few weeks have been very difficult, you know, since Dumbledore was murdered."

Alphard nodded. "I understand, but," he picked up Tonks's hands in his own and squeezed them, "I think you and Remus need to talk without an audience." He wanted to add, _And you need to listen._

"How can I get in touch with you? I mean, it would be great if you could come to the wedding," Tonks said breathlessly. "Mum and Dad ... well, Mum really, she isn't keen on Remus. I mean – you know him. You know what a great guy he is but ..."

"- but he's a werewolf," Alphard finished. "I know. I saw your mother a while ago."

"Oh," Tonks said, crestfallen. "She didn't say she'd seen you. I mean – she didn't tell me."

"We had words. She told me her feelings about werewolves. Well, I didn't tell her that I'd found Idris. There seemed no point."

"But, you know, Uncle, don't you – how it feels to love a werewolf ..."

"... I know how it feels to love Idris," Alphard corrected.

"And you love him even though he already has a mate," Tonks affirmed, excitedly, ignoring Alphard's emphasis.

Alphard knew he had to tread warily. Something was so ..._ off: _Lupin's confusion and Tonk's confidence.

"Why do you ask? Does Remus already have a mate? Is this why you ask?"

"He did," said Tonks. "But it's just us now. Remus and me. You'll see. We'll be happy."

AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL~AB~IL

"What then?" asked Angharad.

"Remus came back at that point, and Dora said nothing more other than she wanted to know how to contact me for a wedding invitation. I told her that Remus could find me with his Patronus." Alphard sighed heavily. "I asked Remus to walk us to the Apparition point. I tried to get him to talk to me about what's going on, but all he would say was that he'd lost his mate and it didn't matter. I couldn't get any more out of him."

"None of it sounds right, Alf," Angharad said. "How could your niece say Remus Lupin doesn't have a mate any more? And why would Remus Lupin say he'd lost Seth Moore? It doesn't make sense."

"You don't _lose_ a mate, Alf," muttered Idris. "Only death parts us."

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**Thanks to Illayne and Smurny for reviewing. **

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